nctually?" enquired Gunther.

He received a full and explicit answer. Gunther's son, who owned the
chemical works at the capital, had been visiting his parents for
several days. He had left that morning, but Gunther had said "good-by"
the evening before. It was a peculiar, but well-weighed custom of his,
to avoid the excitement of the hour of parting. They had many visitors,
for their house was, in the best sense of the word, a hospitable one;
but Gunther would suffer nothing to disturb him during the morning
hour.

It was a merry breakfast party. Paula remarked that spring had surely
come, for the wood-carver who lived in the neighborhood had thrown his
old felt shoes out of the window, and that this was even a surer token
than the coming of the swallows.

After breakfast, Gunther took up his letters, carefully examining the
address and postmark of each, and arranging them in the order in which
they were to be read.

The first one he opened bore the seal of the state department. It was
from Bronnen, who, since his elevation to the highest office under the
government, had kept up a regular correspondence with his old friend
Gunther, and had, indeed, twice visited him in his new home.

Gunther's face brightened while he read the letter. After he had
finished it, he quietly laid it aside and said:

"Friend Bronnen intends to pay us a visit shortly."

Paula turned away quickly, and bent down to kiss her little niece.
Although Gunther was still reading, her movement did not escape his
notice. After he had looked through the rest of his letters, he took up
the newspapers. He was in a thoughtful mood, and would now and then ask
Paula to read certain passages aloud to him.

"One often wishes," said he, "--that is, I have often heard others
express the desire--to be able, after death, to look down upon the
world again. It is a mere phrase, however, which seems deep only to
those who have not weighed it properly. All that we possess, see, or
understand, lies in the world in which we live and move."

The remark seemed a singular one, and Paula was about to follow it up
with a question, when a sign from her mother hinted that she had better
not. The idea had evidently separated itself from a chain of reasoning
which had engaged the mind of the solitary philosopher.

"You will have to answer several letters for me," said Gunther to
Paula, who acted as his secretary. "Come along!"

He was about to leave the room, when a