As Paul had foreseen, his father could not be prevented from arranging a great festivity. He had sent invitations to all his friends in town, on beautiful glazed paper with a black edge as wide as your finger. Therein he had given expression to his grief in well-chosen, elegant phrases, and had nowhere forgotten to provide his signature with an elaborate flourish. In the evening, just when the remains were being laid in the coffin, his two brothers arrived. They had not been at home for many years, and Paul almost failed to recognize them. Gottfried, the tutor, a dignified man with a severe expression of countenance and somewhat portly appearance, had on his arm a young lady veiled in black--his betrothed, who with a wondering glance took stock of the low, miserable rooms, and endeavored to show a face at once friendly and full of grief as the situation demanded. Max, the merchant, came behind them. He looked rather dissolute; his smart-looking mustache gave him an air ill-befitting the feelings of a newly-orphaned son, and his mourning was more evident in discomfort than in grief. Both brothers solemnly embraced their father, and the young lady visitor bent down and kissed first his hand and then his forehead. Then they greeted the twins, who in their black dresses were looking fresher and sweeter than ever. They had overlooked Paul, who stood at the door and fingered his cap in confusion. At last Gottfried asked, “Where is our brother?” Then he stepped shyly forward and stretched out his hand. Three pairs of eyes rested on him searchingly. “If I were but once outside!” he thought, and as soon as he could get away he went out to work in the stables. Gottfried followed him thither. Paul was alarmed when he saw him come, for he did not know what he should talk about to this aristocratic man. “Dear brother,” the latter said, “I have a favor to ask you. Could you not provide a brighter room for my betrothed? She feels herself rather crowded in the girls’ room.” “I will give her my attic,” said Paul. “You would oblige me if you would do that.” Then he addressed a few more questions to him about their mother’s illness, about the cattle, and about the mortgage which lay on the estate. “You poor creatures,” he said; “you have evidently had many a care. But did you endeavor to make the last days of our sainted mother as easy as possible?” Paul assured him he had done all that was in his power. “I am glad of that,” his brother replied, in a severe tone; “it would have been a sad neglect of your duty if you had not done so. And now come, let us go together to visit the remains of our sainted mother, that she, looking down from heaven, may see us all united.” He took Paul’s hand and drew him into the room in which his mother rested peacefully among flowers and burning candles, and where the others were already assembled.