an slightly to overcast the
laughing blue sky. They steamed down the river and soon after they had
passed the splendid sheet of water called the "Broad" the Kessin
church tower hove in sight and a moment later the quay and the long
row of houses with ships and boats in front of them. Soon they were at
the landing. Innstetten bade the captain goodbye and approached the
bridge that had been rolled out to facilitate the disembarkation.
Wuellersdorf was there. The two greeted each other, without speaking a
word at first, and then walked across the levee to the Hoppensack
Hotel, where they sat down under an awning.

"I took a room here yesterday," said Wuellersdorf, who did not wish to
begin with the essentials. "When we consider what a miserable hole
Kessin is, it is astonishing to find such a good hotel here. I have no
doubt that my friend the head waiter speaks three languages. Judging
by the parting of his hair and his low-cut vest we can safely count on
four--Jean, please bring us some coffee and cognac."

Innstetten understood perfectly why Wuellersdorf assumed this tone, and
approved of it, but he could not quite master his restlessness and
kept taking out his watch involuntarily. "We have time," said
Wuellersdorf. "An hour and a half yet, or almost. I ordered the
carriage at a quarter after eight; we have not more than ten minutes
to drive."

"Where?"

"Crampas first proposed a corner of the woods, just behind the
churchyard. Then he interrupted himself and said: 'No, not there.'
Then we agreed upon a place among the dunes, close by the beach. The
outer dune has a cut through it and one can look out upon the sea."

Innstetten smiled. "Crampas seems to have selected a beautiful spot.
He always had a way of doing that. How did he behave?"

"Marvelously."

"Haughtily? frivolously?"

"Neither the one nor the other. I confess frankly, Innstetten, it
staggered me. When I mentioned your name he turned as pale as death,
but tried hard to compose himself, and I saw a twitching about the
corners of his mouth. But it was only a moment till he had regained
his composure and after that he was all sorrowful resignation. I am
quite certain he feels that he will not come out of the affair alive,
and he doesn't care to. If I judge him correctly he is fond of living
and at the same time indifferent about it. He takes life as it comes
and knows that it amounts to but little."

"Who is his second? Or let me say, rather, whom