The designing of a coat-of-arms had been no light task to Paul.  From the moment—­now five months ago—­that he knew his promotion to the nobility was a settled affair, he had devoted the best part of his thoughts to this weighty question.  He hesitated long between medieval simplicity and modern symbolism.  An illustrative crest that should be a play upon his name was out of the question; for of course it was only another of Mayboom, the farce-writer’s, jokes—­he had taken him into his confidence on one of his visits to Berlin—­to suggest a sack of oats, gules on a field, vert.  After devising a dozen crests, each of which he thought charming, only to reject it a day or two afterward as inappropriate, he finally fixed on the one which now adorned his proud banner.  It displayed on a field, vert, three waving transverse bars argent, and in a free quarter-purpure-dexter a medal of the Franco-Prussian War in natural colors.  The waving bars were in allusion to the drainage canals on his marsh estate, and the medal to his career in the war.  He did not forget that he owed the realization of his life’s scheme to his wife’s marriage-portion, and wished to show his appreciation of the fact in a delicate manner by crossing the transverse bars with a marshmallow in natural colors.  However, he abandoned this design when they pointed out to him at the Herald’s office that the crest would be rather overladen thereby, and at the same time would betray too plainly the “newly-baked” aristocrat.  Paul left nothing undone.  He provided himself with a motto.  The incorrigible Mayboom recommended, “The Moor has done his duty.”  Paul decided on “Meinem Konige treu”—­ True to my king.  Somebody at the Herald’s office suggested putting it “Minem Kunege treu,” but he had not the courage.

But though his promotion had occupied him almost exclusively during the last few months, necessitating frequent journeys to Berlin, he did not cease to think of poor Wilhelm.  For a whole year he, as well as Malvine and Willy, wore deep mourning for the friend who had sacrificed himself for them, and Paul erected a magnificent monument over him in the St. Georg Cemetery in Hamburg, on which neither marble nor gilt nor verses were spared.  The monument is one of the sights of the churchyard, and pointed out to visitors with great pride by the sexton.  Old Frau Brohl, too, kept green the memory of the departed friend.  Her speciality now was the manufacturing of flags and banners since Paul had founded quite a number of Vereins among the settlers on his estate—­latterly a Military Verein, and one for Conservative electors.  She was hard at work from morning till night on these objects of art, which she constructed out of heavy silk, and covered so thickly with symbolical devices, and embroidered mottoes and inscriptions, that they were as stiff as boards, and would neither flutter nor roll up.  But when Wilhelm’s funeral monument was to be dedicated, she put aside Paul’s banner and coat-of-arms, upon which she was engaged, and wove a wreath of wire and black and white and lilac beads, a yard and a half in diameter, on which, between laurel leaves, were Wilhelm’s name and the date of his death, and the words:  “Eternal gratitude.”  Nothing the least like it had ever been seen in Hamburg before, and it was much admired on the occasion of the ceremony.