ing to remain in the city," said Daniel. "I am planning to
return to my native Eschenbach."

The pupils looked at each other. Thereupon the speaker remarked: "We
want to go with you." They all nodded.

Daniel got up and shook hands with each one of them.

Two days later, Daniel's furniture and household belongings had all been
packed. Benda came to say good-bye: his work, his great duty was calling
him.

At first Benda could hardly realise that Daniel was yet to live an
active life; that there was still a whole life in him; that his life was
not merely the debris of human existence, the ruins of a heart. But it
was true.

There was about Daniel the expression, the bearing of a man who had been
liberated, unchained. No one could help but notice it. Though more
reticent and laconic than in former days, his eyes had taken on a new
splendour, a renewed brilliancy and clarity; they were at once serious
and cheerful. His mood had become milder, his face more peaceful.

The friends shook hands. Benda then left the room slowly, went down the
steps slowly, and once out on the street he walked along slowly: he felt
so small, so strangely unimportant.

VII

Daniel returned to Eschenbach, and moved into the house of his parents.
His pupils took rooms with the residents of the village.

He was regarded by the natives as a peculiar individual. They smiled
when they spoke of him, or when they saw him passing through the streets
absorbed in his own thoughts. But it was not a malicious smile. If there
was the faintest tinge of ridicule in it at first, it soon gave way to a
vague feeling of pride.

He gained a mysterious influence over people with whom he came in
contact; many sought his advice when in trouble. His pupils especially
adored him. He had the gift of holding their attention, of carrying them
along. The means he employed were the very simplest: his splendid,
cheerful personality, the harmony between what he said and what he did,
his earnestness, his humanness, his resignation to the cause that lay
close to his heart, and his own belief in this cause--those were the
means through which and by which he gained a mysterious influence over
those with whom he came in touch.

He became a famous teacher; the number of pupils who wished to study
under him increased from year to year. But he admitted very few of them
to his classes. He took only the best; and the certainty with which he