he was almost out of breath, and told me that
the captain's wife was over in the garden of the school-master's wife,
and had fainted. She had received a letter with bad news. Her husband
had been shot in the forehead, and was dead.

My wife hurried on ahead of me, and stepped as quickly as in the days
of her youth.

When I reached the garden gate, Annette was already sitting on a bench.
She had her arms around Gustava's neck, and had buried her face in my
wife's bosom.

She raised her head and said, "The flowers still bloom." Then she
covered her face with her hands, and sobbed bitterly.

My wife placed her hand on Annette's head, and said, "Weep on. You have
a right to lament. Let them not dare come and say, 'Conquer your pain,
for hundreds suffer just as you do.' Were there thousands to suffer
this same grief, every one must suffer it for himself, and through life
carry a wounded heart. You are very, very unhappy. You were life and
joy itself: you must now know what it is to be sad. It is a hard
lesson, and although I bear my burden, that will not lighten yours.
That you must bear for yourself, as none besides you can."

Annette raised her head, and when she saw me, extended her hand, saying
at the same time:

"You knew him well; but no one knew him as I did. He was a hero, with a
soul as pure as a child's. Can it be? Can it be possible that he lives
no more? Can a mere bullet put in end to so much beauty, so much
happiness? Surely it cannot be! Why should it have been he? Why should
this stroke fall on me? Forgive me, Bertha, you were stronger and more
determined than I. And how your husband will mourn him! Victor, do you
know what has happened? Uncle Hugo is dead! And in the very hour of his
death I may have been laughing. Alas, alas! Forgive me for making you
all so sad. I cannot help myself."

We had not yet left the garden, when the kreis-director entered. He was
accompanied by a tall gentleman who was a stranger to us.

"Max, you here!" exclaimed Annette. "While I was happy, you did not
come to me, but now you do come. How kind!"

She threw her arms around his neck, and I then learned that he was her
brother.

We retired, leaving them together.

I had known that Annette was an orphan. I now learned that her brother,
who was a lawyer of renown, had given up all intercourse with his
sister, because of her having embraced Christianity. He had wished her
to remain true to the faith of her ancestors, an