views of modern women,"
said Emil. "It was his cool judgment, perhaps, that saved him from a
misfortune like mine."

Just then a carriage stopped before the house. Emil went uneasily to
the window, and Lutz followed him. Bandboxes and trunks were taken from
the house. The professor looked inquiringly at his friend, whose hand
appeared to tremble as it rested on the window-glass.

"What does this mean, Emil?"

"My wife is going to her aunt's for an indefinite time. She leaves me
to enjoy the pleasures of Christmas alone. The children also remain
here; they might be in her way."

The professor pitied his unhappy friend.

"Emil," said he, almost angrily, "it is for you to determine how a man
should act in regard to the freaks and caprices of his wife. But you
should not steep yourself in gall, even though your wife turn into a
river of bitterness. Drive away sadness and be happy. Do not let your
present humor rob you of every thing. Forget what you cannot change."

A beautiful woman approached the carriage. Schlagbein turned away from
the sight. Lutz observed the departing wife and mother. She did not
look up at the window where her husband was. She got into the carriage
without even saying farewell. She sat in the midst of bandboxes,
surrounded by finery and tinsel; and as the wheels rolled over the
pavement, the director groaned in his chair.

"A happy journey to you, Xantippe!" cried the angry professor. "Emil,
be a man. Dress yourself; forget at the Angel of Salingen's your
domestic devil."

Schlagbein moved his head disconsolately.

"What have the wretched to do in the home of the happy? There I shall
only see more clearly that I suffer and am miserable."

Lutz, out of humor, threw himself into the carriage. With knitted brows
he buried himself in one of its corners. That professional head was
perplexed with a question which ordinary men would have quickly seen
through and settled. Frank's happiness and Schlagbein's misery stood as
two irrefutable facts before the mind of the professor. Now came the
question. Why this happiness, why this misery? The dashing Ida he had
known for years; also her enlightened views of life, and her flexible
principles, perfectly conformable to the spirit of progress. Whence,
then, the dissoluteness of her desires, the bitterness of her humor,
the heartlessness of the wife, the callousness of the mother?

The professor continued his musing. He gave a scrutinizing glance at
th