"How strange!" "Why so?" "I was just thinking of him." "That happens so often--and particularly in a large city, and at an hour when everybody is on the go. I shall not be surprised if we meet him again at the Exhibition. Philip is a great lover of pictures, and is not bad himself at drawing and painting. There, he is stopping--I thought he would--Philip understands the proprieties." At the next moment they were side by side with the cabriolet. "Good morning, Ferdinande! Good morning, Reinhold! Stunning hit that I strike you on the first day! Wretched pun, Ferdinande--eh? Looks fine, our cousin, with his brown face and beard--but he doesn't need to be ashamed of the lady at his side--eh? Where are you going--to the Exhibition? That's fine! We'll meet there.--My nag acts like crazy today.--Au revoir!" With the tip of his whip he touched the black horse, which was already beginning to rear in the traces, and sped off, nodding back once more over his broad shoulders. "I should not have recognized Philip again," said Reinhold. "He doesn't resemble you--I mean Uncle and you--at all." In fact, a greater contrast is scarcely conceivable than that between the broad, ruddy, beardless, clean-shaven face of the young man, with his closely clipped hair, and the splendid face of Uncle Ernst, with its deep furrows and heavy growth of gray hair and beard, or the stately pallor and aristocratic beauty of Ferdinande. "Lucky for him!" cried Ferdinande. "Lucky?" "He is, as he appears, a man of his time; we are medieval ghosts. For that reason he moves about as a ghost among us--but it is not his fault." "Then you are on his side in the rupture between him and Uncle?" "The rest of us at home are never asked for our opinion; you must take note of that for the future." "Also for the present," thought Reinhold, as Ferdinande sank back among the cushions. "Ghosts are never one's favorite company, much less on such a beautiful sunny day. There are so many good happy people--sweet little Cilli, for example--and--of whom one thinks, him he meets!" As if wishing to make up in all haste for what he had foolishly neglected in the morning, he now tried to direct his thoughts to her whose image he believed he had forever in his soul, but which would not now appear.--"The throng is to blame for it," he said impatiently. They were in the worst of the jam now, to be sure. A regiment was marching down Friedrichstrasse across the Linden with the band playing. The throng of pedestrians pressed back on both sides, particularly on that from which they came; in the midst of them mounted and unmounted policemen were striving with persuasion and force to maintain order and keep back the throng which now and then gave audible expression to their indignation.