ing to look alive, when he reached the Potsdam Gate. He
there saw a cab stopping in front of the small toll-house, coming as it
seemed from the park. The toll-keeper came out in his furs, and as he
reached out his snuff-box to a policeman who sat by the driver, asked
laughingly--

"Anything that pays duty?" pointing to the closed cab windows.

"Not anything that pays duty here," was the reply. "I must give up my
contraband to the proper authorities. She has smuggled herself--not
into, but out of the world, but she is a rare piece of goods all the
same. I was making my first round this morning yonder there by
Louise-island, when I saw a well-dressed lady sitting on a bench, her
head drooping as though she were asleep. 'My pretty child,' said I,
'look out some warmer place than this to sleep in, in such bitter cold
as this.' But there was no waking her. Her hand still held a small
bottle--it smelt like laurel leaves. She must have drunk it off, and
then _tout doucement_ have fallen to sleep! Good morning. I must make
haste to deliver her up!"

The driver cracked his whip. At that very moment they again heard the
toll-keeper's voice.

"Stop!" (he called out). "You can take another passenger. A gentleman
looked into the cab window--and bang!--there he lies in the snow. Do
get down, comrade, he is quite a young man; he must have weak nerves
indeed to be knocked down in a second at the sight of a dead woman! How
if you put him in beside her? They seem much of a muchness."

"No," returned the policeman, "that is contrary to regulations. Dead
and living are not to be shut in together. Wait, we will carry him into
the toll-house. If you rub his head with snow, and give him something
strong to smell at, he'll come round in five minutes. I am up to these
cases."

They bore the unconscious figure into the house: then the cab set out
on its way again. But the policeman's prognostics were not fulfilled.
Sebastian's consciousness did not return for five weeks instead of five
minutes. It was only when the last snow had melted away that the
miserable man began to creep about a little with the aid of his stick.
Then he went off to his parents, who never knew what a strange fate had
desolated his youth, and cast a shadow over his manhood, that was never
entirely dispelled. When he died at the age of five-and-thirty he left
behind him neither wife nor child.

END OF LOTTKA.