me. With pimplike
generosity and match-making indulgence they decided that it could.

The funeral was also over. Gertrude was buried in St. John's Cemetery on
a stormy day.

The preacher had preached a sermon, the mourners had stood with their
hands stuffed in their coat pockets and their furs, for it was cold. As
the coffin was lowered into the grave, Jordan cried out: "Farewell,
Gertrude! Until we meet again, my child!"

There was one man who crowded right up to the edge of the grave: it was
Herr Carovius. He looked over his nose glasses at Jordan and Daniel and
Eleanore. It seemed to him that the latter, with her pale face and her
black dress, was more beautiful than the most beautiful Madonna any
Italian or Spaniard had ever immortalised on imperishable canvas.

He turned his frightened face to one side, and came very nearly falling
over the heaped-up earth by the grave.

With regard to Daniel's conduct, Pflaum, the apothecary, had this to
say: "I should have expected more grief and sorrow from him, and not so
much sullenness."

"A hard-hearted man, an exceedingly hard-hearted man," said Herr
Seelenfromm in his grief.

Daniel was severely criticised for his discourteous treatment of the
people from the City Theatre, every one of whom had come to the funeral.
When several of them shook hands with him, he merely nodded, and blinked
his eyes behind the round glasses which he had been wearing for some
time.

Judge Kleinlein said: "He should be very grateful for the Christian
burial, for despite the evidence that was turned in, it was not
satisfactorily proved that the woman was in her right mind."

Eleanore looked into the open grave. She thought: "Guilt is being heaped
upon guilt, deep, serious guilt."

All this was over now. Daniel and Eleanore and Jordan had come back to
the house.

II

They felt lonely and deserted. Jordan shut himself up in his room. It
was rare now that he took his accustomed evening walks; his coat-sleeves
and the ends of his trouser legs had become more and more frayed. He
pined away; his hair became snow white, his walk unsteady, his eye dim.
But he was never ill, and he never complained of his fate. He never said
anything at the table; he was a quiet man.

Eleanore moved back up with her father, and Daniel took his old room
next to the dining room. There was all of a sudden so much space; he was
surprised that the going of a single person co