But Paul loved her in his heart only the more tenderly. “Now would be the time for you to come to life again,” he said, and pulled out the wheel and looked into the boiler. He began to cut little models of lime-wood in the evenings, and one day he wrote to Gottfried: “Send me a few books out of the school-library on the working of steam-engines. I feel as if much depended on them for our home.” Gottfried was solicited in vain. In the first place, it went against his principles to take books from the library which he did not use himself; and, secondly, they would not be of any good to Paul, as he was not up in the theory of physics. Then he wrote to Max. The latter immediately sent him a packet, weighing ten pounds, of brand-new volumes, enclosing a bill for fifty marks. He decided to keep the books and slowly to save up the fifty marks. “Nothing is too dear for ‘Black Susy,’” he said. But fresh cause for uneasiness was to befall him. One morning a carriage came driving up to the farm, in which two unknown gentlemen were sitting with a gendarme, one of whom, a comfortable-looking man, of about forty years old, wearing golden spectacles on his nose, introduced himself as a police-magistrate. Paul was terrified, for he felt very well that he had been concealing many things. The magistrate first examined the scene of the fire, took a sketch of the foundations, and asked where the doors and windows had been; then he had all the servants called out, whom he questioned most closely as to what they had done on the day before, and up to the moment when the fire had broken out. Paul stood near him, pale and trembling, and when the magistrate dismissed the servants to examine Paul himself, he felt as if the end of the world had come. “Were you in the barn the day before the fire?” the magistrate asked. “Yes.” “Do you smoke?” “No.” “Do you remember whether in any way you had anything to do with fire, matches, or such things?” “Oh no, I am much too careful for that.” “When were you last in the barn?” “At eight o’clock in the evening.” “What were you doing there?” “I made my usual evening round before I locked the gates.” “Do you always lock the gates yourself?” “Yes, always.” “Did you notice anything on that particular evening?” “No.” “Did you see any one lurking in the neighborhood?” It flashed like lightning upon him. He only remembered at this moment the shadow which he had seen disappearing into the wood at the beginning of the fire. But that was not in the neighborhood, and, drawing a long breath, he answered, “No.” “Well, now it will come out,” he thought; the very next question would bring his night wanderings to the light of day--would betray the secret that hitherto he had kept in his inmost heart. But no. The magistrate broke off suddenly, and said, after a little pause, “Was not a servant called Raudszus in your service till a short time ago?”