er must
be taken naturally and philosophically like a state of Nature.
Furstenheimer was not fond of being away from home. To be frank, his
brother-in-law in Rotterdam had got into financial straits and his
own sister was ill. They had become almost strangers in the long
separation. And that was not right, _was_ it? He really had had to
go.

When they arrived at Aix--the German Aachen--they decided to leave
their grips in an inn, across the station Platz, so that they could
conveniently dine there and be near at hand for the express. Then
they started for the cathedral which, with its eleven centuries,
loomed under a lofty octagon from a low hill.

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE TOMB OF CHARLEMAGNE

In a few minutes the two travelers reached the side portal of the
hoary temple. It represented the seat of Charlemagne's political and
ecclesiastical power--the capitol of the ancient Franks. The door
was closed. A service was being held. It would be out at five
o'clock.

To occupy the interim Gard and his new friend went over to the
neighboring town hall, located on the site of the emperor's palace.
They found it a gay Gothic edifice, the roof flanked by two pert
towers. Inside they tiptoed about with silent respect in the immense
coronation gallery--one of the largest rooms in the world. Here the
medieval German emperors were crowned and imperial diets held.

When the tourists returned to the cathedral they met two young,
clean-shaven Germans, obviously travelers like themselves, also
wishing to enter. One was tall, the other short. While waiting for
the audience to file out, the four struck up a casual conversation
about the edifice. Gard, full of his guide book, was pleased to
inform them on a subject of which they pleaded ignorance.

They sauntered into the somber, august interior. Above were the
impressive stained glass windows, high-flung in the octagon.
Kirtley's binocular, strung over his shoulders, came in handy to the
others. The Germans seemed somewhat posted on stained glass (Teuton
erudition!) and with Gard's binocular they went off for an
inspection from the exterior.

He preferred to remain and contemplate alone the solemn scene about
him. It was an hour he had looked forward to. He wanted to recall
what he had read of this historic spot and the epic and romantic
associations here of the most celebrated of Carolingians.

In the mosaic flooring at his feet, as he sat down, was the
tombstone which (in