Bräsig remained a week at the parsonage, and did everything that was necessary to be done at such a time. He made the inventary, wrote a large bundle of letters announcing the sad news of Mr. Behrens' death, and took them to the post-office himself in spite of snow, cold and gout, settled accounts with the Rahnstädt tradesmen, and was now seated at the breakfast-table with Mrs. Behrens and Louisa on the Monday after the funeral, taking his last meal before leaving them, when a carriage stopped at the door, and Frank von Rambow getting out of it entered the room with joyful impetuosity. But on seeing the deep mourning worn by both the women, he stood still and exclaimed: "What has happened? Where is Mr. Behrens?"--The widow rose from her arm-chair, and going to the young man shook hands with him, and said with difficulty: "My pastor is gone. He has gone home, and wished to be remembered to all, to all ...." Here she broke down, and covering her face with her pocket-handkerchief, continued: "To all he loved, and you were one of those."--Louisa now went and shook hands with him, but without speaking. When he entered the room the blood had rushed to her face, but she had had time to regain self-command. Bräsig then welcomed the new-comer, and began to talk of this or that to change the current of his friends' thoughts, which had gone back to the time when they first knew of their bereavement; but Frank did not hear a word that he said, and stood as motionless as if he had been struck by lightning, the news he had just heard had shattered his joyful anticipations so completely.