"Mamma is right," said Victor. "And if all Jews thought and acted as you have done, dear father, then happiness and hope would find lodging even among the unfortunate members of our persecuted race, and blessings would spring up. Where? Well, the world is so big and so great.... Civilization is so eager to conquer, and Israel so persistent and enduring." His tone was cordial, convincing, and soothing. Involuntarily Rita stepped to his side, and he drew her gently to him. "And he who speaks thus, father, is--" "He is the _fiance_ of our daughter, of your sister, Hugo," Mr. Benas quickly interrupted. * * * * * It was spring time. In beauty and splendor the spring had taken possession of the earth! In youth, joy, and glory everything seemed changed, and awakened to new life by the sweet kisses of the sun. Lovers are peculiarly sensitive to such joy. Entranced, Rita and Victor were looking out from the terrace of the house upon the park, which, in its green attire, lay before them in Easter splendor. Victor had taken Rita's hand, and held it in silent happiness. Hugo approached them with two open letters in his hand. "Mother said I should find you here." "Is it not beautiful here, Hugo?" asked his sister. "At this time of the year Berlin always seems wonderful to me, especially out here. How glorious it is!" He paid no attention to her remarks and said: "I looked for you to show you these letters, one from Henry, and the other...." He looked at one of the letters. "Elkish informs me that he has decided to retire." Her expression became sad: "We might have foreseen that," she said in a low voice. "He wishes to return with his sister to his home in Lissa." "What does father say?" "He feels he must accept the resignation, and will, of course, allow him a proper pension." Victor had listened in silence to the conversation between sister and brother. "Is he an old retainer of your house?" Rita nodded assent. "Is he going because I have come? Does his fanaticism drive him away?" "Perhaps, but may be he is worn out." It was apparent from the tone of her voice that she herself had no faith in her reassuring words. "O no," said Hugo, "he goes because he can no longer comprehend us, so he writes, and he does not wish to make the leave-taking hard, therefore...." "He does not wish to see me again?" Rita cried out in pain. Superiority was sharply expressed in his countenance, strong self-consciousness, untempered by sympathy. Rita looked at Weilen as though to beg his pardon, while Hugo's serious eyes gazed into vacancy. For several minutes there was silence, then Dr. Weilen asked: "And what does your friend Rosenfeld write?"