Jason Philip Schimmelweis again got control of himself. He pressed his hands to his stomach and said breathlessly: “Who would have thought that the Goose Man moves about among us in bodily form?” “Yes, who would have thought it?” said Herr Carovius as if conceding a point. “It is a capital shot, a real discovery. We come to the simple conclusion: Goose Man! And we are capable of drawing a conclusion, for there are three of us. According to an old proverb, _Tres faciunt collegium._” “And they,” stuttered Jason Philip, pointing to the group, as tears of laughter trickled down over his pudgy cheeks, “they are three, too. See, there are three of them!” “Right,” screamed Herr Carovius, “there are three of them, too. It is all clear.” “Have a chew, gentlemen?” said the apothecary, taking his tobacco pouch from his pocket. “No,” replied Jason Philip, “that joke deserves a cigar.” The remark was made between gulps of laughter. “I suggest that we christen the story with a flask of Salvator,” said Herr Carovius. The other two agreed to the proposal. The _collegium_ marched across the square, stopped every now and then, broke out in fits of insuppressible laughter, and then continued on their way to the inn with parched throats. It may have been only an evening shadow, or it may have been a rare inspiration that created the impression. But the Goose Man, standing there in all his pride behind the iron railing, seemed to follow them with his eyes, in which there were traces of sorrow and astonishment. The boys playing ball had soon forgotten the delectable episode. PHILIPPINA STARTS A FIRE I Daniel and Eleanore had reached a stage of mutual silence; it was not the first time, however, and it was as disagreeable now as it had been then. They would meet on the steps, and pass each other with a mere nod. If Eleanore came in to see Gertrude, Daniel withdrew. Once Eleanore called when Gertrude was not at home. Daniel was stubborn; nor could Eleanore manage to make a single rational remark. He did not like her looks; he suspected her paleness and outward, enforced cheerfulness. “It is an undignified state of affairs, Eleanore,” he exclaimed, “we must make an end of it.” Make an end of it? Yes—but how? This was the thought that came at once to Eleanore’s mind. Every day the chain that bound her to him became stronger. Daniel was also tortured by the sight of Gertrude. He felt that she was watching him and that she was worried about him. More than that, the event was approaching that surrounded her with an atmosphere of suffering and made forbearance obligatory. Her features, though haggard and distorted, bore nevertheless an expression of mysterious transfiguration. After Gertrude had noticed for some time that Daniel was being estranged from his work and that he had lost interest in everything, she decided to have a talk with Eleanore. She did it without preparation or tenderness.