All this was as instantaneous as a galvanic shock the moment he had recognized--let us not say Ida, but this evidence that she was no more. It occurred to him that the woman, who stood staring, was in common politeness entitled to some explanation. He was in just that state of mind when, the only serious interest having suddenly dropped out of the life, the minor conventionalities loom up as peculiarly important and obligatory. “You were Fraiilein Ida Werner, and lived at No.-- ------strasse in 1866, _nicht wahr?_” He spoke in a cold, dead tone, as if making a necessary but distasteful explanation to a stranger. “Yes, truly,” replied the woman curiously; “but my name is now Frau Stein,” glancing at the children, who had been staring open-mouthed at the queer man. “Do you remember Karl Randall? I am he.” The most formal of old acquaintances could hardly have recalled himself in a more indifferent manner. “_Herr Gott im Himmel!_” exclaimed the woman, with the liveliest surprise and interest “Karl! Is it possible? Yes, now I recognize you. Surely! surely!” She clapped one hand to her bosom, and dropped on the bench to recover herself. Fleshy people, overcome by agitation, are rather disagreeable objects. Randall stood looking at her with a singular expression of aversion on his listless face. But, after panting a few times, the woman recovered her vivacity and began to ply him vigorously with exclamations and questions, beaming the while with delighted interest. He answered her like a schoolboy, too destitute of presence of mind to do otherwise than to yield passively to her impulse. But he made no inquiries whatever of her, and did not distantly allude to the reason of his presence in Germany. As he stood there looking at her, the real facts about that matter struck him as so absurd and incredible that he could not believe them himself. Pretty soon he observed that she was becoming a little conscious in her air, and giving a slightly sentimental turn to the conversation. It was not for some time that he saw her drift, so utterly without connection in his mind were Ida and this comfortable matron before him; and when he did, a smile at the exquisite absurdity of the thing barely twitched the corners of his mouth, and ended in a sad, puzzled stare that rather put the other out of countenance. But the children had now for some time been whimpering for supper and home, and at length Frau Stein rose, and, with an urgent request that Randall should call on her and see her husband, bade him a cordial adieu. He stood there watching her out of sight, with an unconscious smile of the most refined and subtle cynicism. Then he sat down and stared vacantly at the close-cropped grass on the opposite side of the path. By what handle should he lay hold of his thoughts?