He did not often write to his father; only when a stronger impression than usual touched his iron nerves he reported it to him in detail. These letters therefore were great events in Adler's life. The old mill-owner read them again and again, and enjoyed every word of them; they revived in him the ardent dreams of long ago. To go up in a balloon or look down into the crater of a volcano; to join in a cancan or give a woman champagne baths; to lose or win hundreds of roubles at one throw--had these not been the ideals of his life? Did not Ferdinand even surpass them? Under the influence of these letters, sketched in the excitement of first impressions, the habit of dreaming came back to this sternly realistic mind. At times he distinctly visualized what he read, investing it with an almost poetic fancy, but the vision fled before the rhythmic throb of the engines and power-looms. Adler had only one longing, one hope and faith--to amass a million, sell his mill, and go away with his son to see the world. "He will enjoy himself, and I shall look on all day long." Pastor Boehme was not at all in favour of this programme, worthy of the corrupt Elders of Sodom and Gomorrah, or the Roman Empire. "When you have come to the end of the money and the pleasure, what will you do then?" "Ah, but money like ours does not come to an end," the mill-owner would reply. CHAPTER III The day for Ferdinand's return had arrived. Adler got up at five o'clock in the morning according to his custom, drank his coffee at eight from his large china mug, inscribed with the motto: "Mit Gott für König und Vaterland," and visited the factory. At eleven he sent the carriage and a luggage cart to the station, and then sat down in the portico and waited, his face as apathetic and dull as usual. From time to time he looked at his watch. The sun was hot; the scent of mignonette and acacia from the courtyard mingled with the pungent smell of smoke from the factory. The sky was clear and the air quite still. Adler wiped the perspiration from his face, and kept changing his position on the iron seat. The old mill-owner did not eat his lunch at twelve, and did not drink his beer out of the big pot with the pewter lid, as he had done every day for forty years. At one o'clock the carriage with Ferdinand arrived, followed by the empty cart. Ferdinand was a tall, rather thin, but strongly built young man with fair hair and blue eyes. He wore a Scotch cap with ribbons and a light circular cape. As soon as he saw him, the mill-owner drew up his huge figure to its full height, and holding out his arms and giving one of his big laughs, exclaimed: "Well, Ferdinand, how are you?" The son jumped out of the carriage, embraced his father and kissed him on both cheeks. "Has it been raining here, that you have your trousers turned up?" he said. The father glanced at his trousers. "Ha, ha! How the rascal notices everything!" he roared. "Johann! Lunch!"