"Yes, yes. You know that Grenwitz and Stantow will have to be rented again at Michaelmas. Now we should like to have the two farms surveyed anew, as the plats which were made twenty-five years ago are very indifferent. The first letter, therefore, which we would beg you to write for us, is to a surveyor. His name is Albert Timm, and he lives in Grunwald. You would ask him to come immediately, in order to make some arrangement. The second letter is for our lawyer, also in Grunwald. Anna Maria wants him to revise the contracts. Here is a copy of the last. Anna Maria has marked on the margin what changes she desires in the new contracts. If you could copy this document for us--it is asking a good deal----" "Give it to me, baron. When do you want the papers?" "If you could write them till dinner-time? We have told the boys that they would drive down to Stantow with us. You do not object?" "I suppose it is all right." "Well then, good-by, doctor, and pardon our troubling you with these matters. But you know, Anna Maria----" "No excuse, baron." Any one who has ever been in the state of mind in which Oswald had been, before the baron came to him with his formidable request, will readily understand why the young man hurled the whole package of papers contemptuously into a corner as soon as he was alone again. He threw himself on the sofa and closed his eyes to dream of Melitta. But the more he tried to recall the image of the beloved, the more obstinately the wrinkled face of the baron presented itself instead. Then again it would change into the face of the Brown Countess; then the Reverend Mr. Jager made him a face, and suddenly Bruno was standing before him, clad in long, flowing white garments. Oswald tried to laugh at the mad masquerade, but when he looked at the boy's face his laugh died on his lips, his hair stood on end, he shivered with cold--that waxy-white complexion, contrasting so strangely with the bluish-black hair, the wide open fixed eyes, a nameless something in those lack-lustre, broken, and yet eloquent eyes--that was not Bruno, that was Death, Death in person, under the beloved form of Bruno! Oswald started up with a wild cry. The terrible vision had vanished, but it took several minutes before the young man could convince himself that it had been only a vision. He had seen everything so very distinctly; every piece of furniture in the room, the ray of the sun that came in at the window, and the atoms of dust dancing in the light. Suddenly he heard the cracking of a whip and the grating of wheels on the gravel before the great portal of the château. The baron was riding off with the boys. Oswald walked hurriedly up and down in his room.