ed the confidences his patrons had
placed in his future. He found that the first volume of the "History of
Human Ignorance," testing of the early ideas of mankind and their
psychological reasons, was completely ready for the press; and all the
notes and literary sources for the two following volumes only needed
putting together to bring the work up to the end of the eighteenth
century, and the experiments of Lavoisier, from which the
indestructibility of matter was deduced.

The first volume appeared in the autumn. On the title page he gave his
own name as the author, but did not omit, as a man of honor, to mention
in the preface that in compiling the work he had availed himself of
"the preparatory notes of the late Dr. Wilhelm Eynhardt, an eminent
scholar, lost all too early to the scientific word by a tragic death."
In the ensuing editions which followed rapidly upon the first, the book
meeting with great success, this preface was omitted as unnecessary.
The second volume appeared in the following year; the third--very
prudently--not till two years later. There were no more. In the two
last volumes there was no more mention of Eynhardt. After the
publication of the first volume, the young man whose name adorned the
title-page received a call to a public school, of which he now forms
one of the chief ornaments. To various inquiries with regard to a
concluding volume which should treat of the nineteenth century, he
replied by pointing out the doubtful wisdom of a history or criticism
of hypotheses and opinions which were as yet incomplete and still under
discussion, and put them off with vague promises for the future.
Schrotter only shrugged his shoulders. He knew Wilhelm's views on the
subject of posthumous fame, and the immortality of the individual, and
considered it inexpedient to punish the clever young professor for
being a man like the rest.

About three months after Wilhelm's death Schrotter received one more
letter from Auguste. He observed curtly and dryly that Monsieur le
Docteur evidently did not wish to have anything more to do with him; he
wrote, however, once more, and for the last time, in order to give him
his new address in case he might desire to answer. He had been obliged
to look for another place, the game was up at the Boulevard Pereire. In
spite of all their watchfulness, madame had managed to obtain morphine,
and one night in July, when the sister who shared her room was asleep,
she had given