extremely incomplete, either because I applied in the wrong quarters, or
because, being a foreigner, I inspired same distrust in those to whom I
applied. I was leaving Mannheim, therefore, somewhat disappointed, and
after having visited the little Protestant cemetery where Sand and
Kotzebue are buried at twenty paces from each other, I had ordered my
driver to take the road to Heidelberg, when, after going a few yards, he,
who knew the object of my inquiries, stopped of himself and asked me
whether I should not like to see the place where Sand was executed. At
the same time he pointed to a little mound situated in the middle of a
meadow and a few steps from a brook. I assented eagerly, and although
the driver remained on the highroad with my travelling companions, I soon
recognised the spot indicated, by means of some relics of cypress
branches, immortelles, and forget-me-nots scattered upon the earth. It
will readily be understood that this sight, instead of diminishing my
desire for information, increased it. I was feeling, then, more than
ever dissatisfied at going away, knowing so little, when I saw a man of
some five-and-forty to fifty years old, who was walking a little distance
from the place where I myself was, and who, guessing the cause that drew
me thither, was looking at me with curiosity. I determined to make a last
effort, and going up to him, I said, "Oh, sir, I am a stranger; I am
travelling to collect all the rich and poetic traditions of your Germany.
By the way in which you look at me, I guess that you know which of them
attracts me to this meadow. Could you give me any information about the
life and death of Sand?"

"With what object, sir?" the person to whom I spoke asked me in almost
unintelligible French.

"With a very German object, be assured, sir," I replied. "From the
little I have learned, Sand seems to me to be one of those ghosts that