When Major Falk was fully convinced that his wound was incurable, he
decided to remove to Karlsruhe, in order not to be quite without help when
his increasing illness should make it necessary for him to have some aid
in the care of his eleven-year-old daughter. It did not take long to make
the move. He rented a few rooms in the neighborhood of his sister, and
spent the warm spring afternoons enjoying his regular walk under the shade
of the lindens with his little daughter as his supporter and loving
companion.

When he grew weary of walking and they sat down on a bench to rest, the
Major had always some interesting story to tell, to beguile the time, and
Dora was certain that no one in the whole world could tell such delightful
stories as her father, who was indeed in her opinion the most agreeable
and lovable of men. Her favorite tales, and those which the Major himself
took most pleasure in relating, were little incidents in the life of
Dora's mother, who was now is heaven. He loved to tell the child how
affectionate and happy her mother had always been, and how many friends
she had won for herself, and how she always brought sunshine with her
wherever she went, and how nobody ever saw her who did not feel at once
attracted to her, and how she was even now remembered by those who had
known and loved her during life.

When Major Falk once began to talk about his dearly-beloved wife, he was
apt to forget the flight of time, and often the cool evening wind first
aroused him with its chilly breath to the fact that he was lingering too
long in the outer air. Then he and his little Dora would rise from the
bench in the shade of the lindens, and slowly wander back into town, until
they stopped before a many-storied house in a narrow street, and the Major
would generally say,