The New Year examinations were at hand, and Schlegel was working hard--so hard that even the strange murders in the town, and the general excitement in men’s minds, failed to turn his thoughts from his studies. Upon Christmas Eve, when every house was illuminated, and the roar of drinking songs came from the Bierkeller in the Student-quartier, he refused the many invitations to roystering suppers which were showered upon him, and went off with his books under his arm to the rooms of Leopold Strauss, to work with him into the small hours of the morning. Strauss and Schlegel were bosom friends. They were both Silesians, and had known each other from boyhood. Their affection had become proverbial in the University. Strauss was almost as distinguished a student as Schlegel, and there had been many a tough struggle for academic honors between the two fellow-countrymen, which had only served to strengthen their friendship by a bond of mutual respect. Schlegel admired the dogged pluck and never-failing good temper of his old playmate; while the latter considered Schlegel, with his many talents and brilliant versatility, the most accomplished of mortals. The friends were still working together, the one reading from a volume on anatomy, the other holding a skull and marking off the various parts mentioned in the text, when the deep-toned bell of St. Gregory’s church struck the hour of midnight. “Hark to that!” said Schlegel, snapping up the book and stretching out his long legs toward the cheery fire. “Why, it’s Christmas morning, old friend! May it not be the last that we spend together!” “May we have passed all these confounded examinations before another one comes!” answered Strauss. “But see here, Otto, one bottle of wine will not be amiss. I have laid one up on purpose;” and with a smile on his honest South German face, he pulled out a long-necked bottle of Rhenish from among a pile of books and bones in the corner. “It is a night to be comfortable indoors,” said Otto von Schlegel, looking out at the snowy landscape, “for ’tis bleak and bitter enough outside. Good health, Leopold!” “_Lebe hoch!_” replied his companion. “It is a comfort, indeed, to forget sphenoid bones and ethmoid bones, if it be but for a moment. And what is the news of the corps, Otto? Has Graube fought the Swabian?” “They fight to-morrow,” said Von Schlegel. “I fear that our man will lose his beauty, for he is short in the arm. Yet activity and skill may do much for him. They say his hanging guard is perfection.” “And what else is the news among the students?” asked Strauss. “They talk, I believe, of nothing but the murders. But I have worked hard of late, as you know, and hear little of the gossip.” “Have you had time,” inquired Strauss, “to look over the books and the weapons which our dear old Professor was so concerned about the very day he met his death? They say they are well worth a visit.”