For
hours together, he would sit silent in one place, half sleeping, half
waking; noticing no one, and caring for nothing but to get to his bed as
soon as possible.

This statement of the case seemed to me to suggest very grave
considerations. I could no longer hesitate to inform Mr. Keller that I
had received intelligence of his absent partner, and to place my letter
in his hands.

Whatever little disagreements there had been between them were instantly
forgotten. I had never before seen Mr. Keller so distressed and so little
master of himself.

"I must go to Engelman directly," he said.

I ventured to submit that there were two serious objections to his doing
this: In the first place, his presence in the office was absolutely
necessary. In the second place, his sudden appearance at Bingen would
prove to be a serious, perhaps a fatal, shock to his old friend.

"What is to be done, then?" he exclaimed.

"I think my aunt may be of some use, sir, in this emergency."

"Your aunt? How can she help us?"

I informed him of my aunt's project; and I added that Madame Fontaine had
not positively said No. He listened without conviction, frowning and
shaking his head.

"Mrs. Wagner is a very impetuous person," he said. "She doesn't
understand a complex nature like Madame Fontaine's."

"At least I may show my aunt the letter from Bingen, sir?"

"Yes. It can do no harm, if it does no good."

On my way to my aunt's room, I encountered Minna on the stairs. She was
crying. I naturally asked what was the matter.

"Don't stop me!" was the only answer I received.

"But where are you going, Minna?"

"I am going to Fritz, to be comforted."

"Has anybody behaved harshly to you?"

"Yes, mamma has behaved harshly to me. For the first time in my life,"
said the spoilt child, with a strong sense of injury, "she has locked the
door of her room, and refused to let me in."

"But why?"

"How can I tell? I believe it has something to do with that horrid man I
told you of. You sent a letter upstairs this morning. I met Joseph on the
landing, and took the letter to her myself. Why shouldn't I look at the
postmark? Where was the harm in saying to her, 'A letter, mamma, from
Wurzburg'? She looked at me as if I had mortally offended her--and
pointed to the door, and locked herself in. I have knocked twice, and
asked her to forgive me. Not a word of answer either time! I consider
myself insulted. Let me go to Fritz."

I made no a