and strange; he held his hand pressed to his side. He looked out of
strange eyes at the old servants. They looked at him and saw their
master's face and cloak and knew that he had received his death-wound.
But only the dark was where they looked: only dark silent air. Their
master had received his death-wound on the battlefield of Prague far
away over the sea. He was standing on the field; his hand was pressed
to his side; his face was pale and strange and he wore the white cloak
of a marshal.

O how cold and strange it was to think of that! All the dark was cold
and strange. There were pale strange faces there, great eyes like
carriage-lamps. They were the ghosts of murderers, the figures of
marshals who had received their death-wound on battlefields far away
over the sea. What did they wish to say that their faces were so
strange?


VISIT, WE BESEECH THEE, O LORD, THIS HABITATION AND DRIVE AWAY FROM IT
ALL...


Going home for the holidays! That would be lovely: the fellows had told
him. Getting up on the cars in the early wintry morning outside the
door of the castle. The cars were rolling on the gravel. Cheers for the
rector!

Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!

The cars drove past the chapel and all caps were raised. They drove
merrily along the country roads. The drivers pointed with their whips