ician who attends him is quite a jovial
character, and maintains that Jochem would live many years longer if he
had only been able to feed his anger and keep his lawsuits, for these
furnished him with excitement and amusement, at the same time. As long
as he had these, there was still something left to fight for in the
world and some one to abuse, and it was this that had kept him up. Now
that his life was a peaceful one, he would, in all likelihood, die of
_ennui_.

"You smile," said the physician to me. "Believe me, I am quite serious.
An infant in the cradle that does not cry, and a chained dog that does
not bark, have neither life nor energy and will surely die."

He may be right, to a certain extent.

I feel under restraint when with the physician; for he regards me with
such a strange, scrutinizing air.

"Oh, Thou good God! The grass is coming up! But they'll bury me in the
earth and I'll never come up again!" was Jochem's lament.

*

The old man is dead. This very night he passed away in his sleep. No
one was with him at the time.

He died like a forest tree which has lost its power of absorbing
nourishment.

Little Burgei now sleeps with me. My friends will listen to nothing
else, and will not suffer me to be alone at night.

*

I am filled with dread. A corpse lies on the floor above. Beside it, is
a solitary lamp that is left to burn until the dead man is buried. And
yet I feel that I must conquer this feeling of dread! Yes, I shall.

It still moves me deeply to think of how the old man remembered me. He
sent for me yesterday; and, when I went up to his bedside, he said:
"Irmgard, you were a stranger and yet were kind to me--I'd like to
leave you something. I've been thinking the matter over and find that I
still have something to give you. It's the best of all that I own. It
would do me no good to have it buried with me, and it will be of great
benefit to you, for there's a charm in it. Here it is--take it--it's
the bullet that struck me on the third rib. Take good care of it. He
who bears with him a bullet that has once hit a man, is in no danger of
sudden, unexpected death. You can rely on that! And now I've something
to ask you: Tell me, what was your father's name? You've told me that
he's dead. When I get to heaven, I'll hunt him up and tell him that
you're quite a good girl; a little bit queer, perhaps, but right good
fo