I: “That would certainly not be done intentionally. You know that I worship you, and would let myself be cut into a thousand pieces for you.” He: “Ah, no; not into so many! It is not necessary.” I: “Well then, only into two pieces, so that one might see half a Büschlein (little Busch) fall to the right and half to the left!” On my then begging him as soon as his health permitted to let Löscher and Petsch come to take his portrait, he promised to do so, adding: “If they do not care to come, then the other man can--what’s his name?” I: “Brasch, here in the Wilhelmstrasse, at the corner of the Leipzigerstrasse.” He: “But I must first keep my word.” I: “I did not ask you to do anything contrary to it. I only thought of Brasch because he took a very good photograph of my late son.” He: “How did the thing happen?” I then related shortly the circumstances of my son’s death. He: “That is a sad case, and there are many to share your misfortune, all who had relatives on board the _Cimbria_.” I: “But my son was engaged in his profession, in the fulfilment of his duty, and died bravely and conscientiously for his ship like a soldier for his flag.” He reached me his hand, and said, “Auf Wiedersehen!” I had been with him fully three-quarters of an hour, and all this time good old Möller had to wait in the antechamber. On returning home on the evening of the 3rd of February, I found lying on my table a letter from Count Bill, in which, at his father’s request, he enclosed a new photograph of the latter with a full white beard.