The funeral party now assembled round the grave, into which the coffin was lowered.  The merchants who had carried it looked relieved when he was laid to rest; he had been an equally heavy burden to them both in death and in life.  The singing ceased, and a silence ensued, as the clergyman ascended the little heap of earth which had been thrown up at the side of the grave.

During the latter part of the preparation of his discourse, the chaplain had felt keenly in what a difficult position he was placed in regard to the deceased.  Since his engagement with Madeleine, his first duty was to be strictly impartial, and not to allow himself to be led into any flattering expressions, which would be quite out of place from the lips of one who had, in point of fact, become one of the family.

The dean had, in his discourse in the church, dwelt entirely on the merits of the deceased, as a fellow-citizen and as a good man of business, who had, almost like a father, found daily bread for hundreds, and who had shed happiness and prosperity all around him.  The chaplain began his address as follows:—­

“My sorrowing friends, when we look into this grave—­six feet long and six feet deep, when we look at this dark coffin, when we think of this body which is going to decay, we naturally, my dear friends, say to ourselves, ‘Here lies a man of riches, of great riches.’  But let us search the depths of our own hearts.  For where is now the glitter of that wealth which dazzles the eyes of so many?  Where is now the influence which to us, short-sighted mortals, appears to attach to earthly prosperity?  Here in this dark tomb, six feet long and six feet deep, it is buried from our sight.

“Oh, my friends! let us learn the lesson which is taught by this silent tomb.  Here all is finished, here is the end of all inequality, which is, after all, but the result of sin.  Here, in the calm peace of the churchyard, they rest side by side, rich and poor, high and low, all alike before the majesty of death.  All that is perishable on earth is swept aside like a used garment.  Six feet of earth, that is all; it is the same for each one of us.”

The gentle spring breeze breathed on the silk banners of the various guilds, lifting the heavy folds out from the staff, and making a glad rustle in the silk.  And the same breeze also carried the words over the cemetery, to the old crones who were sitting on the tombstones, and the girls and women who were grouped along the slope.  Yes, even to the far distant edge of the cemetery did the wind bear the eloquent discourse, so that the words could be distinctly heard at the grave in which Marianne was about to be laid.  And those words about equality and the evanescence of worldly wealth, were indeed words of comfort for the poor, as well as for the rich.  But those who stood by Marianne’s grave scarcely listened to them—­not even Torpander, who stood gazing intently at his solitary wreath, which lay on the simple coffin.