her
will. Herr Feyertag might sell her furniture and piano, deduct the rent
and the borrowed money from the proceeds, and give the remainder to the
poor; the letter was resolute, like the woman who wrote it, but it was
no suicide's bulletin; I know that, for I once made a collection of the
autographs, last notes, etc., left by suicides just before they entered
eternity."

"And Mohr?"

"He came again in the evening, and seemed to have been brooding
meantime over some plan or to have had some other question to ask. When
he found the cell empty, (no one thought of an escape, as the
imprisonment was voluntary,) he became even more thoughtful, morose,
and uncivil than he's been for the last few weeks. Even the little
zaunkoenig, who can usually stand a good deal, seemed somewhat nettled
by his strange manners. For the rest--all honor to the little man! He's
cared for the unfortunate creature like a real Samaritan, while from a
Christian standpoint, suicides have usually been considered the very
scum of humanity, the poor step-children of God and predestined to
misery, and have always been buried outside the church-yard wall. A
long hymn of praise might be sung over Leah's treatment of the
stranger. My little Adele actually gets jealous when I tell her how
self-sacrificing, clever, and discreet the zaun-princess' conduct has
been."

"And there's still no clue to the cause of this desperate step?" said
Edwin. "When I think of our bacchanalian revel at Charlottenburg, and
her playing--she seemed to be in such good spirits, like all the rest
of us, only of course in her strange, sullen way--"

Marquard shrugged his shoulders. "Who can tell! Perhaps Leah! At least,
whenever I alluded to the subject, she grew speechless in a strange
way, like a person who has no talent for lying and therefore prefers to
seal his lips. Mohr, who'd be easier game to an inquisitor, seemed, up
to yesterday, to have no suspicions; but early this morning, so your
old Lore tells me, he went to Fraeulein Christiane's room, on the
pretext that he wanted to buy the piano. There he rummaged in every
corner, and at last found something--a little book, at the sight of
which he uttered an inarticulate moan. What it may have been, his
'so-called gods' only know. However, he's happy now; he has an object
in life which occupies all his thoughts: to unveil this mystery and
trace the woman who has disappeared."

"I've wondered whether, after all,--did you nev