In his bewilderment he quite forgot where he
was, and, in hurried Norse sentences, assured
his persecutor that he was a harmless, honest
traveler, and implored him to release him. But
the official Hercules was inexorable.

"My valise, my valise;" cried Halfdan.
"Pray let me get my valise."

They returned to the place where he had
slept, but the valise was nowhere to be found.
Then, with dumb despair he resigned himself to
his fate, and after a brief ride on a street-car,
found himself standing in a large, low-ceiled
room; he covered his face with his hands and
burst into tears.

"The grand-the happy republic," he
murmured, "spontaneous blossoming of the soul.
Alas! I have rooted up my life; I fear it will
never blossom."

All the high-flown adjectives he had employed
in his parting speech in the Students' Union,
when he paid his enthusiastic tribute to the
Grand Republic, now kept recurring to him, and
in this moment the paradox seemed cruel. The
Grand Republic, what did it care for such as
he? A pair of brawny arms fit to wield the