ng his eyes from the floor; finally he
shook hands with him, and left the room.

Julie and Felix accompanied him out to the carriage, in which the body
of the dog had been already laid. He got in with evident difficulty,
and gave the two at parting a hand that was as cold as ice. He did all
this as if he were still enveloped in some dream, from which even the
presence and sympathy of those most dear to him could not arouse him.

Fridolin had mounted on the box by the side of the driver, and in this
fashion they pursued their long drive through the cold, rainy night,
and drew up in front of the studio just as the clock was striking
twelve. The driver lent them his assistance in lifting the heavy body
of the dog out of the carriage, and carrying him in. They laid him down
in the little garden behind the house, and, with shovel and pickaxe,
dug a deep grave, into which they lowered the huge animal. The driver
had gone on his way again, and Jansen stood motionless on the brink of
the grave, gazing down on the dark mass that they were leaving there to
crumble into dust. But Fridolin took the two artificial roses which had
belonged to his angel's dress, and which he still wore behind his ears,
and cast them down upon the dead animal.

"It is winter," he said, "and a dark night; and we have nothing
fresher. But go and get some sleep, Herr Professor. I will put his bed
in order with my spade. And though he was only an animal, perhaps after
all we shall see him again at the resurrection; and if there should be
a heaven for dogs, Herr Professor, he will go there sooner than many a
priest. And why? Because he knew what friendship and kindness meant;
and that is what nine men out of ten don't know; and he never treated a
poor fellow-man like a dog, which can't be said of everybody. I don't
think the good God will object if I offer up a few paternosters for the
poor dog's soul."

Jansen nodded in silence, and turned away. Then he went into the house,
and stepped into his studio. It was cold as ice in the large room; the
wind roared down the chimney, and rattled in the iron stove. Yet for
all that the unhappy man could not make up his mind to go back to his
lodgings. He threw himself upon the low sofa and spread his cloak over
his benumbed limbs. So he lay there perfectly still, and listened to
the falling of the rain and the noise made by the spade. His eyes were
shut. But for all that he never ceased to see, in the darkness of h