managed it he did not know, but, although he could not swim, he managed to push the boy in front of him toward the terrace, crying anxiously, “Catch hold of him!  Catch hold of him!” Life returned to Malvine’s limbs, she leaned over the parapet and stretched out her arms.  Wilhelm made a supreme effort and lifted the boy so far out of the water that she could grasp him, put her arms round him, and drag him up, and with him apparently Wilhelm, for his head and shoulders rose for a moment above the water.  With a jerk she dragged the fainting boy over the parapet and held him in her arms, while she continued to scream for help.  People came running from the shore the Carlstrasse, the Fahrhaus, and in an instant the terrace was crowded.  They relieved the still half-demented mother of the dripping child to carry him across to the house.  She was pushing her way through the closely packed groups and tottering after them when a cry reached her.  “There is another one in the water!” Only then did she remember Wilhelm.  Terrified to death, she turned and flew back to the edge of the terrace.  A crowd stood there gesticulating wildly, all talking at once, and obstructing the view.  A gap opened when two or three men with more presence of mind than the rest rushed down to the landing, jumped into the boat, untied it, and pushed off from the shore.  And now, to her unspeakable horror, she saw that Wilhelm had disappeared, and the thick muddy waters gave no clew to the spot where he had gone down.  This was too much, and she altogether lost consciousness.  When she came to herself she was lying on the sofa in her husband’s smoking room, her dress in disorder, and the maids busy about her.  She first looked round her startled, then her memory returned with a flash, and she cried with quivering lips:  “How is Willy—­and Dr. Eynhardt?”

“Master Willy has quite come round, and they are putting him to bed,” the servants hastened to answer.

“But Dr. Eynhardt?”

To that they had no reply.

Malvine jumped up and would have rushed out.

“Gnadige Frau!” cried the girls, horrified, “you can’t go out like that!”

They held her back; Malvine struggled to free herself, but at that moment there was a sound of heavy footsteps and a confused murmur of voices in the hall, some one flung open the door, the man-servant put in his head, but started back at sight of his mistress and closed the door abruptly.  Then he went on, and the footsteps and murmuring voices followed him.

“They are bringing him in!” shrieked Malvine, and they could hold her back no longer.  A moment later and she knew that she was right.  On the billiard-table, in the room to the right of the hall, lay Wilhelm’s motionless form, while the people who had carried him in stood round.  Water flowed from his clothes and made little pools on the green cloth and trickled into the leather pockets of the billiard-table.  His breast did not move, and death stared from the glazed, half-open eyes.