Oh, that is nothing. That will soon pass away. You must remember that he has lost so much blood. ~His Wife.~~ Yet it hurts me to see his poor, pale face and close-cropped head. He used to have such beautiful curls! ~The Man.~~ Yes, I know, but the doctor was obliged to cut them off to dress the wound. But never mind, my wife; they will soon grow again, more beautiful than ever. Did you save the curls when they were cut off? They ought certainly to have been saved, for there was his dear blood upon them'. ~His Wife.~~ Yes, my beloved one; and I stored them in this casket here--the only, thing of value which we have left. ~The Man.~~ Then you did rightly. We have no cause to fret about our vanished riches, for the boy; will soon be grown up, and able to go and work for us all. Yes, he will soon recover for us what we have lost. I feel quite cheerful again, my wife--quite confident about the future. Do you remember our poor old room with the pink walls, and how the good neighbours brought us sprigs of oak and birch, and how you made a chaplet of leaves for my head, and swore that I was a genius? ~His Wife.~~ Yes; and I swear it now, my darling. Others may have ceased to, appreciate you, but not I. ~The Man.~~ Yet you are mistaken, little wife. If I were _really_ a genius my creations would have outlived this poor old relic which they call my body: yet _I_ am still alive, whereas my creations---- ~His Wife.~~ No, no! They have not perished, nor will they ever. Think of that great mansion at the corner of the street--the one which you designed ten years ago. I know well that you go to look at it every evening when the sun is setting. And, indeed, is there in all the world a more beautiful, a more stately mansion? ~The Man.~~ Yes, of set purpose I built it in such a way that the beams of the setting sun may fall upon it and make its windows flash. When all the rest of the city is in twilight my house is still bidding farewell to the sun. Yes, 'twas a fine piece of work; and perchance--who knows?--it will outlive me a little while. ~His Wife.~~ Of _course_ it will, my darling! ~The Man.~~ One thing, and one thing only, grieves me concerning that masterpiece of mine: and that is that people should so soon have forgotten its designer. They might have remembered him a _little_ longer, just a _little_ longer. ~His Wife.~~ Oh, in time people forget every one, just as they cease to care for fashions which they once adored. ~The Man.~~ Yet they might have remembered me just a little longer, just a little longer. ~His Wife.~~ One day I saw a young artist gazing at that mansion. He was studying; it carefully, and sketching it in a notebook. ~The Man.~~ Oh, you should have told me of that before, dear wife! It means a great deal, a very great deal. It means that my design will be handed down to future generations, and that, even if my personality be forgotten, my _work_ will live. Yes, it means a great deal, a very great deal.