of me not to have
spoken to you about it the very first thing this morning. My wife has
made her appearance again; she gave me a specimen of her acting last
night--a benefit performance in Paradise--a short scene, but very
effective. And now this is the second act. That the third, in which I
am to play too, will be the last, you may be very sure."

"She is here, she has the child, and you know where she is to be
found?"

"Not yet. However, I know some one who knows all about it, whom I think
I can talk into giving me the necessary information. By-the-way, it
must be about the time--almost four o'clock; let us go!"

"Go alone, unless you have particular need of me. My knees can hardly
bear me. The anxiety--Oh! let me rest here just for a few moments."

"I'll order a drosky. You mustn't think of walking back such a long
distance. We will ride part of the way together."

He called the janitor and sent him out for a carriage. Then he paced
with long strides up and down the studio in profound silence, while the
woman sank back into a chair, and struggled hard to compose herself.

In the midst of this painful stillness, they all at once heard the
voice of the battle-painter in the entry.

He and Felix came in together, and his unsteady step, pale face, and
disheveled aspect, showed plainly enough that the horrors of the
preceding night were still fresh in his memory. He greeted Jansen with
a most depressed mien, and the jokes that he tried to make sounded
anything but cheerful. He would not have shown himself in such a
wretched condition had he not happened to fall in with something that
might possibly be of importance to Jansen.

An hour ago he had crept into the open air for the first time that day,
his head still heavy from the wine that he had dolefully poured down
his throat the night before, in the hope of drowning his dismay at that
murderous tragedy with poor old Homo. As he did not want to meet any of
his acquaintances, he took the road that leads out through the gates,
visiting, among other places, the cemetery, and feeling quite in a mood
to seek a resting-place there himself.

On his return, as he was passing the Sendling gate, he saw a traveling
carriage, loaded down with trunks, roll out and turn into the country
high-road.

This struck him as being rather a peculiar proceeding at this time of
year and in this century of railways; and for that reason he looked
pretty closely at the equipage as it dro