wo people. They saw each other but seldom. He lived in his little
room by himself. Valentine brought him his meals, as always. The
children were often with him. If the two happened to meet, he greeted
her with friendly reserve and she returned his greeting. If they had
anything to discuss together it happened each time as if by chance
that either the maid was present or the children and Valentine. But no
day passed without some silent token of courteous respect. On Sundays,
when he came in from his garden, he brought a bouquet of flowers with
him which Valentine then presented to her. He could have made a
brilliant marriage, gallant lovers sued for her hand; but he repelled
all offers and she all suitors. So passed days, weeks, months, years,
decades. The old gentleman died and was buried. The good councilman
followed, and then Valentine. The children grew to be youths. The
unruly lock over the widow's brow, Apollonius' corkscrew-curl, turned
gray; the children became men, strong and gentle like their teacher
and master; lock and curl were silver white; the life of the two
remained the same.

Now the reader knows all the past which the old man, sitting in his
arbor, reads from St. George's tower when the bells call for Sunday
morning service. Today he looks forward into the future, rather than
backward into the past. For his older nephew is soon to lead Anna
Wohlig's daughter to the altar of St. George's, and then home; not to
the house with the green shutters, however, but to the big house close
by. The pink-tinted house is too small for the growing business--and
besides the new household would not find room there; Herr Nettenmair
has bought the big house across the way. The youngest nephew is going
to Cologne. The old cousin who did so much for Apollonius has been
dead for many years; also the son has died, leaving his large business
to his only child who is the betrothed of Fritz Nettenmair's younger
son. There will be a double wedding at St. George's. The two old
people will then live alone in the house with the green shutters. For
a long time the old gentleman has wanted to hand over the business to
his nephews, but the young men have steadfastly refused till now. The
older nephew insists that his uncle shall remain at the head; the old
gentleman does not wish to do so. A part of the councilman's estate,
which he inherited, he has reserved for himself for his lifetime;
everything else, and that is by no means littl