Such a one he had not yet found in the course of the next day, but returned to his “albergo” again in the evening and went to sleep rather exhausted by the unaccustomed Italian air, the strong sun, much wandering about and the noise of the streets. Soon consciousness began to fade, but just as he was about to fall asleep he was again awakened, for his room was connected with the adjoining one by a door concealed only by a wardrobe, and into this came two guests, who had taken possession of it that morning. From the voices which sounded through the thin partition, they were a man and a woman who unmistakably belonged to that class of German spring birds of passage with whom he had yesterday journeyed hither from Florence. Their frame of mind seemed to give decidedly favourable testimony concerning the hotel cuisine, and it might be due to the good quality of a Castellin-romani wine that they exchanged ideas and feelings most distinctly and audibly in North German tongue: “My only Augustus.” “My sweet Gretchen.” “Now again we have each other.” “Yes, at last we are alone again.” “Must we do more sight-seeing to-morrow?” “At breakfast we shall look in _Baedeker_ for what is still to be done.” “My only Augustus, to me you are much more pleasing than Apollo Belvedere.” “And I have often thought, my sweet Gretchen, that you are much more beautiful than the Capitoline Venus.” “Is the volcano that we want to climb near here?” “No, I think we’ll have to ride a few hours more in the train to get there.” “If it should begin to belch flame just as we got to the middle, what would you do?” “Then my only thought would be to save you, and I would take you in my arms—so.” “Don’t scratch yourself on that pin!” “I can think of nothing more beautiful than to shed my blood for you.” “My only Augustus.” “My sweet Gretchen.” With that the conversation ceased, Norbert heard another ill-defined rustling and moving of chairs, then it became quiet and he fell back into a doze which transported him to Pompeii just as Vesuvius again began its eruption. A vivid throng of fleeing people caught him, and among them he saw Apollo Belvedere lift up the Capitoline Venus, take her away and place her safely upon some object in a dark shadow; it seemed to be a carriage or cart on which she was to be carried off, for a rattling sound was soon heard from that direction. This mythological occurrence did not amaze the young archæologist, but it struck him as remarkable that the two talked German, not Greek, to each other for, as they half regained their senses, he heard them say: “My sweet Gretchen.” “My only Augustus.”