him trying to catch them.
When he is quiet again, he is brought back to us."

A warder appeared and said there was too much talking. The young man
slid away swiftly and silently. He was a thief by profession, of
superior skill and intelligence.

Axel ate part of the bread, and succeeded in swallowing some of the
coffee, and then began his walk again, up and down, up and down,
listening intently at the door each time he came to it for sounds of his
lawyer's approach. The morning must be halfway through, he thought; why
did he not come? How could he let him wait at such a crisis? How could
any of them--Gustav, Trudi, Manske--let him wait at such a crisis? He
grew terribly anxious. He had expected Gustav by the first train from
Berlin; he might have been with him by nine o'clock. The other brother,
he knew, would be less easily reached by the telegram--he was attached
to the person of a prince whose movements were uncertain; but Gustav?
Well, he must be patient; he may not have been at home; the next train
arrived in the afternoon; he would come by that.

The door opened, and he turned eagerly; but it was the Public Prosecutor
again.

"Name, name, and crime!" frantically whispered the accompanying warder,
as Axel stood silent. Axel repeated the formula of the night before.
Every time these visits were made he had to go through this performance,
his heels together, his body rigid.

"Bed not made," said the Public Prosecutor.

"Bed not made," repeated the warder, glaring at Axel.

"Make it," ordered the chief; and went out.

"Make it," hissed the warder; and followed him.

His lawyer came in simultaneously with his dinner.

"Plate," said the warder with the pot.

"This is a sad sight, Herr von Lohm," said the lawyer.

"It is," agreed Axel, reaching down his plate. He allowed some of the
mess to be poured into it; he was not going to starve only because the
soup was potent.

"I expected you yesterday," he said to the lawyer.

"Ah--I was engaged yesterday."

The lawyer's manner was so peculiar that Axel stared at him, doubtful if
he really were the right man. He was a native of Stralsund, and Axel had
employed him ever since he came into his estate, and had found his work
satisfactory, and his manners exceedingly polite--so polite, indeed, as
to verge on cringing; but then, as Manske would have pointed out, he was
a Jew. Now the whole man was changed. The ingratiating smiles, the bows,
the rubbed hands, whe