asked, and was so struck by her peculiar manner that he set his cup
down untouched.

"Why Schilsky, of course." She thought his astonishment was disbelief,
and nodded confirmingly. "Yes, yes, he is going away. And soon, too."

"How do you know?" cried Maurice. Sitting back in his chair,
he stemmed his hands against the edge of the table, and looked
challengingly at Frau Furst.

"Ssh--not so loud," said the latter. "It's a secret, a dead secret--
though I'm sure I don't know why. Franz----"

At this very moment, Franz himself came into the kitchen. He looked
distrustfully at his whispering mother.

"Now then, mother, haven't you got that beer yet?" he demanded. His
genial bonhomie disappeared, as if by magic, when he entered his home
circle, and he was particularly gruff with this adoring woman.

"GLEICH, FRANZCHEN, GLEICH," she answered soothingly, and whisked
about her work again, with the air of one caught napping.

Maurice followed Furst's invitation to join the rest of the party.

The folding-doors between the "best room" and the adjoining bedroom
had been opened wide, and the guests were distributed over the two
rooms. The former was brilliantly lighted by three lamps and two
candles, and all the sitting-accommodation the house contained was
ranged in a semicircle round the grand piano. Here, not a place was