Berner led the visitor to the door. As he was opening it, Muller
asked: "Has Egon Langen a bad scar on his right cheek?"

Berner's eyes looked his astonishment. How did the stranger know
this? And how did he come to mention this forgotten name.

"Yes, he has, but how did you know it?" he murmured in surprise.
He received no answer, for Muller was already walking quickly down
the street. The old man stared after him for some few minutes,
then suddenly his knees began to tremble. He closed the door with
difficulty, and sank down on a bench beside it. The wind had blown
out the light of his lantern; Berner was sitting in the dark
without knowing it, for a sudden terrible light had burst upon his
soul, burst upon it so sharply that he hid his eyes with his hands,
and his old lips murmured, "Horrible! Horrible! The brother
against the sister."

The next morning was clear and bright. Muller was up early, for he
had taken but a few hours sleep in one of the rooms of the station,
before he set out into the cold winter morning. At the next corner
he found Amster waiting for him. "What are you doing here?" he
asked in astonishment.

I have been thinking over what you said to me yesterday. Your
profession is as good and perhaps better than many another."

"And you come out here so early to tell me that?"

Amster smiled. "I have something else to say."