his eyes, but between the interstices of his fingers we thought we
caught a darkling flame proceeding from them.

"Hein?" she said in my ear, "what if his name were Frederic?"

I answered with a glance, which said to her: "Silence!"

Hermann continued:]

"Frederic!" cried the young surgeon, "Frederic basely deserted me. He
must have been afraid. Perhaps he is still hidden in the inn, for our
horses were both in the courtyard this morning. What an
incomprehensible mystery!" he went on, after a moment's silence.
"Somnambulism! somnambulism? I never had but one attack in my life,
and that was when I was six years old. Must I go from this earth," he
cried, striking the ground with his foot, "carrying with me all there
is of friendship in the world? Shall I die a double death, doubting a
fraternal love begun when we were only five years old, and continued
through school and college? Where is Frederic?"

He wept. Can it be that we cling more to a sentiment than to life?

"Let us go in," he said; "I prefer to be in my cell. I do not wish to
be seen weeping. I shall go courageously to death, but I cannot play
the heroic at all moments; I own I regret my beautiful young life. All
last night I could not sleep; I remembered the scenes of my childhood;
I fancied I was running in the fields. Ah! I had a future," he said,
suddenly interrupting himself; "and now, twelve men, a sub-lieutenant
shouting 'Carry-arms, aim, fire!' a roll of drums, and infamy! that's
my future now. Oh! there must be a God, or it would all be too