"No; and even less sure that they are untrue. It seems to me that a vast amount of credulity is needed for positive unbelief. Do atheists ever have doubts about anything?" "We don't sit still and say, '_Quien sabe?_' like you agnostics. When nobody shall believe or disbelieve, who will _act_?" "I give it up." With a look of profound disgust, the professor pocketed his note-book and went to seek refreshment in the shape of beer. Notwithstanding the difference in their ways of thinking, these two men had something in common which furnished a strong bond of union between them. Helfenstein sometimes said to himself, "Well, if he _is_ a pitiable doubter, he at least doubts in earnest. This makes him better than the miserable tric-trac men who are always ready to agree that black is white, or deny that two and two make four, when it suits their convenience or interest." And, in fact, though Brent often paraded his agnosticism merely to draw forth the professor's scornful comments, he really had a humble and hopeless consciousness that if truth be visible to any human mind it was hidden from his. The possession of an ample fortune and the lack of family ties and active interests in life had fostered his tendency toward introspection till it became morbid. Now, at the age of thirty, he had no positive beliefs or aims, and felt the despairing self-contempt which inspired Hamlet's cry, "What should such fellows as I do, crawling between earth and heaven?" Before retiring, the travellers agreed to spend the next day in making an excursion on foot to the neighboring mountains. But when the hour for starting arrived, Brent had not risen, and the professor, who allowed nothing to interfere with his plans if he could help it, set out alone. A little before sunset he returned, full of enthusiasm over the scenery, and highly pleased with the people in the farm-houses where he had stopped. "They are a good, honest, _kreuzbraves Volk_," he said. "They have kept the old German home-feeling all unchanged. There is a certain Bärnthaler over there at the foot of the mountains who is worthy to be a native of the Fatherland,--a noble-looking fellow, with the lion-front of a young Marcomannic chief." "The Marcomanni were a Suevic race, were they not?" "Yes; I should have known his ancestors were dark-haired Swabians even if he had not told me so. He is something of a scholar, I should say, and he seems as true a gentleman as ever lived. What a shame it is that his good South-German name should have been corrupted into Barndollar!" "I heard this Barndollar's praises sounded about three hours ago." "By whom?"