ibrary door; our backs were turned to the windows, and thus we
faced a wall where between the busts and statues that rested on the
carved wooden brackets, there hung an occasional painting on the
polished panels.

I gave an account of my trip, received thanks for coming at last. I
delivered greetings from her parents, of whom we talked a little. She
said she had been thinking of her father to-day, she would have been so
glad to have had him with her; for she had just come from a dying man,
whose death-bed was the most beautiful she had ever witnessed.
Meanwhile, she had assumed her favorite position, that is to say, she
sat slightly bowed forward, with her head thrown back, and her eyes
fixed on the upper part of the wall, or on the ceiling. As she sat thus,
she pressed one finger against her open under lip, not once, but with a
constant repetition of the same movement. Now and then the upper portion
of her body swayed to and fro Her eyes seemed to be fixed; they did not
seek my face, either when she asked a question or when she received an
answer, unless something special had attracted her from her position.
Even then she would promptly resume it.

"Do you believe in immortality?" she asked, as though this were the most
natural question in the world, and without looking at me.

But as I was surprised, and consequently compelled to look at her, I
perceived that a tear was trickling down her cheek, and that those open
eyes of hers were full of tears.

I felt at once that this question was a pretext; it was her husband's
belief she was thinking of. Therefore I thought I would spare her
further pretexts.

"What is your husband's opinion of immortality?"

"He does not believe in the immortality of the individual," replied she;
"we perpetuate ourselves in our intercourse with those about us, in our
deeds, and above all in our children: but this immortality, he thinks,
is sufficient."

Her eyes were fixed as before, and they were still full of tears; but
her voice was mild and calm; not a trace of discontent or reproach in
the simple statement, which doubtless was correct.

No, she is not one of the so-called childlike women, I thought; and if
she has the same innocent, questioning expression she had nine years
ago, it is not because she has been without thought or research.

"You talk, then, with Atlung about these subjects, I suppose?"

"Not now."

"In Dresden you seemed to be thoroughly united about these thin