s, however much they may
seem to be matters of pure chance.

Their coming together took place on the day after Daniel had gone to
Eschenbach. At the break of day, Daniel had decided to return by way of
Schwabach, both for the sake of variety and because this was the shorter
route. The sun was hotter than on the day before; and when it had
reached the height of its ability to dry up the land and scorch a human
being, Daniel lay down in the forests. Late in the afternoon, just as he
was approaching Schwabach, great black clouds began to gather in the
West; a fearful storm was evidently to be expected. Heavy streaks of
lightning flashed across the sky; and although Daniel tried to hasten
his steps, the storm overtook him. Before he could reach the shelter of
a house, he was wet to the skin from head to foot.

The rain came down in torrents. He waited a long while, and then had to
start out in it again, arriving finally at the station shivering with
cold. As he went to buy his ticket he noticed a lean, haggard, unusual
looking individual standing at the ticket window. It is quite probable
that, vexed by his uncomfortable condition, Daniel treated him none too
courteously; he pushed up against him, whereupon the man turned around,
and Daniel recognised the young Baron, Eberhard von Auffenberg. Eberhard
in turn recognised Daniel. It is unlikely that there was at that time
another face in the world which could belong so completely to just one
person as that of Daniel.

The Baron had been attracted to Schwabach by his affection for a certain
person there, an affection he had preserved from the days of his
childhood. There lived in Schwabach at the time a woman who had been his
nurse. Her undivided and resigned love for him was touching. She was as
proud of him as she might have been had she been able to say that in him
she had been responsible for the childhood training of the noblest
specimen of manhood known to human history. And he was fond of her; the
stories she told him he could still recall, and he did recall them
frequently and with pleasure. She had married the foreman of a tin mill,
and had sons and daughters of her own. Eberhard had been planning for
years to visit her. This visit had now been paid. But Eberhard could not
say that he had derived extraordinary pleasure from it: it had taken an
inner figure from his soul. And, on the other hand, whether the nurse
felt, on seeing the tall, lank, stiff, and ill-humoure