objects; it
teaches us that the world has not yet ceased to exist, and that we do
wrong to bury ourselves in solitude."

"Oh, you understand me! Tell me what to do, what to begin? I know
nothing. I am like a child that has lost its way in the dark woods."

"Yes, that you are."

Bruno started. The intendant's confirmation of his opinion of himself
rather displeased him.

"I am so weak now," said he. "Just think of what I've had to suffer
during the last few days."

There was a strange mixture of gentleness and bitterness in his tone.

"May I smoke?" he asked.

"Certainly. Do anything that pleases you."

"Ah, no, nothing pleases me. And yet I should like to smoke."

He lit a cigar.

The world had, however, not quite forgotten him, as he had said in his
anger. A visitor was announced. He hurriedly put the cigar away. The
world was not to see him smoking, and was not to imagine that he was
unfeeling, or that he did not mourn for his father and sister.

There were many visitors, and Bruno was again and again obliged to
display his grief and to accept the sympathy offered him. He now saw
how the rumor of Irma's death had spread throughout the city, from the
palace to the hovel. People whom he hardly knew, and others who were
even ill-disposed toward him, came. He was obliged to receive all
politely, to thank them, and to accept their assurances of sympathy,
while he fancied he could detect malicious pleasure in many an eye. But
he was obliged to ignore this and, although now and then a nervous
twitching of his features almost betrayed him, he managed to keep up
the semblance of all-absorbing grief.

His companions in pleasure also visited him, and it was quite curious
to witness the grave air which the young cavaliers assumed, now and
then casting a glance at the great mirror in order to see whether the
serious expression became them well.

It seemed almost comical to think that the man who was always the
merriest in the party, and who could make the best and most unequivocal
jokes, should now be so downcast. They seated themselves; they
straddled the chairs and rested their arms on the backs; they lit their
cigars, and much was said of their respective "papas."

"My papa has been dead this two years."

"My papa is ill."

"My papa intends to retire on his pension."

Some one asked: "Bruno, how old was your father?"

He did not know, but answered at a venture:

"Sixty-three."

They also spoke of the