“It is useless,” he murmured with difficulty. “My life was in the instrument, as brittle as the glass. I have--” He could say no more. Jennie went swiftly downstairs to the office of a physician, on the first floor, which she had noticed as she came up. The medical man, who knew of the philosopher, but was not personally acquainted with him, for the Professor had few friends, went up the steps three at a time, and Jennie followed him more slowly. He met the girl at the door of the attic. “It is useless,” he said. “Professor Seigfried is dead; and it is my belief that in his taking away Austria has lost her greatest scientist.” “I am sure of it,” answered the girl, with trembling voice; “but perhaps after all it is for the best.” “I doubt that,” said the doctor. “I never feel so like quarrelling with Providence as when some noted man is removed right in the midst of his usefulness.” “I am afraid,” replied Jennie solemnly, “that we have hardly reached a state of development that would justify us in criticizing the wisdom of Providence. In my own short life I have seen several instances where it seemed that Providence intervened for the protection of His creatures; and even the sudden death of Professor Seigfried does not shake my belief that Providence knows best.” She turned quickly away and went down the stairs in some haste. At the outer door she heard the doctor call down, “I must have your name and address, please.” But Jennie did not pause to answer. She had no wish to undergo cross-examination at an inquest, knowing that if she told the truth she would not be believed, while if she attempted to hide it, unexpected personal inconvenience might arise from such a course. She ran rapidly to the street corner, hailed a fiacre and drove to a distant part of the city; then she dismissed the cab, went to a main thoroughfare, took a tramcar to the centre of the town, and another cab to the Palace. CHAPTER XVII. JENNIE ENGAGES A ROOM IN A SLEEPING CAR.