Maerz went to the shoemaker's door. All was as still as death
within. He opened the door and listened. Engelhardt--was sleeping! His
breathing was deep and regular ... Dr. Maerz shook his head and went
thoughtfully out of the ward. On the steps leading to the garden he lit
a cigar and turned up his coat collar. He was shivering.

So now he is asleep, thought he, as he walked through the moonlit
garden, where the bushes cast long, pale shadows. Is there any
discoverable connection between the teacher's death and Engelhardt's
sleep? And he thought of one of his colleagues, who would invent a
connection in any case, and then he thought how much he would enjoy a
cup of strong coffee just now. Suddenly he paused, slightly startled.
In the moonlight a little man, all wrapped up, was moving. It was the
lawyer.

The little man had passed the whole night shivering and trembling in
his dark room. But when the first cock crowed he had slipped out of the
ward to water his flowers.

"Hush, hush!" he whispered to the thousands of little birds that began
to chirp in the bushes as soon as he came near. "Sleep a bit longer,
little ones!"

And while he was watering the flowers, he quite forgot the night, the
"Rajah," and Engelhardt who needed another soul, and began to smile.
"Good morning, my pets," he said softly, "here I am, I have come back
to you."

But in Michael Petroff's room the light was burning.

Michael Petroff was sitting at his writing table, smiling and
goodhumored, writing diligently. For the impression that the "Rajah's"
death had made upon him had vanished as quickly as the tears that he
had shed for him. He was now working on an article which he regarded as
a marvelously important contribution for his newspaper. And this work
brought back his happy cheerful spirits.

In the neatest characters he wrote:

"A telegram! The Rajah of Mangalore--against whose exile we have
registered our telegraphic protest with the English Government--fell
gently asleep tonight toward three o'clock. We had the honor to be
present at his deathbed and to draw up the last will and testament of
this great ruler. We will favor our readers with a copy:

"'We, Rajah of Mangalore, banished by the English Government, too noble
to harbor feelings of revenge toward our enemies, since we are dying,
in order to rescue our subjects, make known to our people ...'"

Only as the sun rose did Michael Petroff lie down to rest.

THE CONTEM