“Fellow-citizens, a gigantic task has been completed. Everyone who is not Austrian at heart has left the territory of our small but beautiful country. Now we are alone, a single family; henceforth we must depend on ourselves and our own peculiar qualities--with our own power will we now reorganize our clean house, will we brace up decaying walls and build up falling foundations. Citizens of Vienna and of our entire country! Today we are celebrating a holiday the like of which has never been seen before. Tomorrow marks the beginning of a new year, and of new life for all of us. Tomorrow we may still lean back and meditate. But then we must work as we never worked before. We must dedicate all our ability to our country--we must make the most of every hour. We must show all the world that Austria can live without the Jews. Nay, more--we must show that we will recover because we have removed the foreign element from our organism. In this solemn hour, fellow-citizens, you must promise me faithfully that we will no longer live only for today and its pleasures, but that we will work, work, and do nothing but work until the fruits of our labors have matured.” “We promise!” roared the crowd; strangers shook each other’s hands, men and women wept and laughed in one another’s arms, someone sounded the new national hymn and was joined by the entire chorus. And then, spontaneously, there rose as from one throat the cheer: “Hail our Dr. Schwertfeger, the liberator of Austria!” When the joyful shouting had subsided a little, Mayor Karl Maria Laberl finally had an opportunity to say something. He began his speech with the words: “My dear Christians!...” But the crowd did not hear much more, for the warm southwind that had been blowing through the previously ice-cold night was now followed by a shower. Screaming and shrieking, the mob dispersed, to hurry to the tramway lines through a sea of slush and melted snow. PART TWO CHAPTER I. LOTTE SPINEDER TO LEO STRAKOSCH, 22 RUE FOCH, PARIS “Just a year has passed, darling, since I stood in the West Station waving good-bye to you with my tear-soaked handkerchief. And the first Christmas that I have had to spend without you as your betrothed is over. It was very sad again, and Papa, quite worried, said that I would be sick and wretched if I continued giving way to my grief so much. I’m always very pale these days, sleep poorly, suffer much from headaches, and tire so easily. Our family physician thinks it’s anæmia, and prescribed Guber water for me, but I know that it’s only my longing for you that makes me weak and ill.