The three founders! what a study their faces were, thought Ernest Clare, watching them from the next table. Sally Price’s, which, now that the resting time had come, had lost its keen intentness, and gained a sweet, reposeful look that resembled the old weary, listless passiveness as a dim church window before the dawn is like the same window flashed through by the rays of the rising sun. Then Karl Metzerott, with his strong, sturdy, sensible face,—strong enough to keep in order the fierce passions that lay beneath it, but not too sensible to be fully conscious of his own share in all that he saw around him, and of the significance of his nickname the Emperor. Last of all, Frau Anna, with her thin cheeks, upon which the color seemed burnt in, her dark, eager, restless eyes, and unsatisfied mouth. Her voice, too, had a querulous sound; and perhaps it was the instinct of the physician—the healer of souls—that caused the quiet blue eyes to rest so long upon her before exploring the other faces around the table. There was nothing especially remarkable about the brisk, good-looking young man who sat next her, except his inability to keep those sparkling dark eyes of his away from the next table, where Gretchen Schaefer was, apparently placidly unconscious of him and his glances. Frau Anna, however, noted every one, and as she followed them with amused rather than resentful eyes, it may be inferred that Gretchen’s unconsciousness was not so real as it looked; for Anna Rolf adored her eldest son, though it may be that the place nearest her heart was filled by the boy whose birth had been so closely followed by her husband’s death. Fritz knew this, amusedly; had he been the favorite, it is possible that George’s peculiar disposition would have rendered necessary a different adverb. He was a loosely built, awkward-looking youth, with an overhanging brow, sullen, blue-gray eyes, and heavy jaw; much given to thinking, and a good deal to brooding, when he had nothing of importance to think about; very like his father, in short, and equally capable of becoming enslaved by an _idée fixe_,—a youth who should have studied the Elements of Euclid along with his catechism, and for whom the differential Calculus was a part of the scheme of salvation. It was a very different face opposite him. “Little Annie,” as she used to be called, was now a tall girl of nineteen, not pretty, perhaps, but fair and restful to tired eyes; like George, but with a serious thoughtfulness about the eyes and mouth instead of his brooding sullenness. She and Louis always sat beside each other, perhaps rather too pointedly for the success of any parental scheme; and, indeed, though they were evidently on the best of terms, there was nothing like love-making in the quiet looks which they exchanged from time to time. The two tables were quite near enough for conversation, and Karl Metzerott was not slow to begin one.