Tony’s black frock gave her figure a maidenly slimness. She, of them all, was perhaps most deeply moved by the death of the Consul, to whom she had drawn so close in the last months that even to-day the thought of him made her burst out twice in bitter weeping; yet the prospect of this family council, this solemn little conference in which she could bear a worthy part, had power to flush her pretty cheek, brighten her glance, and give her motions dignity and even joy. The Frau Consul, on the other hand, worn with anxiety and grief and the thousand formalities of the funeral and the mourning, looked ailing. Her face, framed in the black lace of her cap-strings, seemed paler, and her light-blue eyes were tired and dull. But there was not a single white hair to be seen in her smooth red-blonde coiffure. Was this still the Parisian tonic, or was it the wig? Mamsell Jungmann alone knew, and she would not have betrayed the secret even to the other ladies of the family. They sat at the end of the table and waited for Herr Marcus and Thomas to come out of the office. The painted statues seemed to stand out white and proud on their pedestals against the sky-blue background. The Frau Consul said: “The thing is--I bade you come, my dear Justus--in short, it is about Clara, the child. My beloved husband left to me the choice of a guardian for her--she will need one for three years. I know you do not want to be overburdened with responsibilities. You have duties to your wife and sons--” “My son, Betsy.” “Yes, yes, we must be Christlike and merciful, Justus. As we forgive our debtors, it says. Think of our gracious Father in Heaven.” Her brother looked at her, a little aggrieved. Such turns of phrase had come in the past only from the mouth of the Consul. “Enough,” she went on. “There are as good as no obligations connected with this service of love. I should like to ask you to accept it.” “Gladly, Betsy; of course, I’ll do it with pleasure. May I not see my ward? A little too serious, isn’t she, the good child--?” Clara was called. She slowly appeared, all black and pallid, her movements melancholy and full of restraint. She had spent the time since her father’s death in her room praying almost without ceasing. Her dark eyes were immobile; she seemed frozen with grief and awe. Uncle Justus the gallant stepped up to her, bowed as he pressed her hand, and murmured something appropriate. She went out, after receiving the Frau Consul’s kiss on her stiff lips. “How is Jürgen?” began the Frau Consul again. “Does it agree with him in Wismar?” “Very well,” answered Justus Kröger, sitting down again with a shrug of the shoulders. “I think he has found his place now. He is a good lad, Betsy, a lad of principle, but--after he had failed twice in the examination, it seemed best-- He did not like the law himself, and the position in the post-office at Wismar is quite suitable. Tell me--I hear Christian is coming?”