“Oh, bah!  How can I help it?  Read these lines I have just received.”

Wuellersdorf took the second letter with the illegible postmark, was amused at the “Esq.,” and stepped to the window that he might read more easily.

“Gracious Sir:  I suppose you will be surprised that I am writing to you, but it is about Rollo.  Little Annie told us last year Rollo was so lazy now, but that doesn’t matter here.  He can be as lazy as he likes here, the lazier the better.  And her Ladyship would like it so much.  She always says, when she walks upon the marsh or over the fields:  ’I am really afraid, Roswitha, because I am so alone; but who is there to accompany me?  Rollo, oh yes, he would do.  He bears no grudge against me either.  That is the advantage, that animals do not trouble themselves so much about such things.’  These are her Ladyship’s words and I will say nothing further, and merely ask your Lordship to remember me to my little Annie.  Also to Johanna.  From your faithful, most obedient servant, Roswitha Gellenbagen.”

“Well,” said Wuellersdorf, as he folded the letter again, “she is ahead of us.”

“I think so, too.”

“This is also the reason why everything else seems so doubtful to you.”

“You are right.  It has been going through my head for a long time, and these simple words with their intended, or perhaps unintended complaint, have put me completely beside myself again.  It has been troubling me for over a year and I should like to get clear out of here.  Nothing pleases me any more.  The more distinctions I receive the more I feel that it is all vanity.  My life is bungled, and so I have thought to myself I ought to have nothing more to do with strivings and vanities, and ought to be able to employ my pedagogical inclinations, which after all are my most characteristic quality, as a superintendent of public morals.  It would not be anything new.  If the plan were feasible I should surely become a very famous character, such as Dr. Wichern of the Rough House in Hamburg, for example, that man of miracles, who tamed all criminals with his glance and his piety.”

“Hm, there is nothing to be said against that; it would be possible.”

“No, it is not possible either.  Not even that.  Absolutely every avenue is closed to me.  How could I touch the soul of a murderer?  To do that one must be intact himself.  And if one no longer is, but has a like spot on his own hands, then he must at least be able to play the crazy penitent before his confreres, who are to be converted, and entertain them with a scene of gigantic contrition.”

Wuellersdorf nodded.