across the bridge to Sachsenhausen, and so to his squalid lodging,
consoling himself with the remembrance that the great King Charlemagne
had made this his own place of residence. Here, before retiring to bed,
he wrote the letter which he was to send in next day to Herr Goebel,
composing it with some care, so that it aroused curiosity without
satisfying it.

It was half-past ten next morning when Roland presented himself at the
door of the leading merchant in the Fahrgasse, and sent in to that
worthy his judiciously worded epistle. He was kept waiting in the hall
longer than he expected, but at last the venerable porter appeared, and
said Herr Goebel would be pleased to receive him. He was conducted up
the stair to the first floor, and into a front room which seemed to be
partly library and partly business office. Here seated at a stout table,
he recognized the grave burgher whose home-coming he had witnessed the
night before.

The keen eyes of the merchant seemed to penetrate to his inmost thought,
and it struck Roland that there came into them an expression of
disappointment, for he probably did not expect so youthful a visitor.

"Will you be seated, mein Herr," said his host; and Roland, with an
inclination of the head, accepted the invitation. "My time is very
completely occupied to-day," continued the elder man, "for although
there is little business afoot in Frankfort, my own affairs have been
rather neglected of late, and I am endeavoring to overtake the arrears."

"I know that," said Roland. "I stood by your doorcheek last night when
you returned home."