vivacity would return; but the shadow of Death was already darkening
his mind.

On New Year's Eve he got up very late. "We will welcome in the New
Year," he said to Hermann. "I hope it may bring you happiness; I
know it will bring me rest." A few minutes before midnight he opened
the piano, and played with solemnity, and as if it had been a
chorale, a song of Schumann's, entitled "To the Drinking-cup of a
Departed Friend." Then, on the first stroke of midnight, he filled
two glasses with some old Rhenish wine, and raised his own glass
slowly. He was very pale, and his eyes were shining with feverish
light. He was in a state of strange and fearful excitement. He
looked at the glass which he held, and repeated deliberately a verse
of the song which he had just been playing. "The vulgar cannot
understand what I see at the bottom of this cup." Then, at one
draught, he drained the full glass.

While he was thus speaking and drinking, he had taken no notice of
Hermann, who was watching him with consternation. Recovering himself
at length, he exclaimed, "Another glass, Hermann! To friendship!" He
drained this second glass, like the first, to the very last drop;
and then, exhausted by the effort he had made, he sank heavily on a
chair. Soon after, Hermann led him, like a sleepy child, to his bed.

During the days that followed, he was unable to leave his room; and
the doctor thought it right to warn Hermann that all the symptoms
seemed to point to a fatal issue.

On the 8th of January a servant from the hotel in the little
neighboring town brought a letter, which, he said, required an