Count Maurice and his brother walked away arm in arm as usual, but in silence, which was not usual, since Maurice commonly talked for himself and his brother too. At last Victor said, with a deep sigh,— "Maurice, I would give all I have in the world to believe what that man said this morning." "And I would give it for you if such a belief would be a comfort to you. But, Victor, why not find out the preacher and talk with him?" "I have talked with so many, and they never did me any good," said Victor. "I don't remember ever seeing you study the Bible for yourself," said Maurice, simply. Victor turned an inquiring look on his brother. "Study the Bible?" he repeated. "Why, yes. When you wished to learn mathematics, you did not content yourself with talking to professors; you got the books and worked out the problems for yourself. Why don't you do so now? Bibles are not so rare and inaccessible, and you have one." "I know," said Victor as his brother paused. "I have treasured it, but I never thought of studying it." They walked on in silence a few minutes, and then Maurice said, in his peculiar matter-of-fact way,— "After all, Victor, in one way these simple Christian folks have one more chance on their side than we people of advanced ideas." "One more chance?" answered Victor, rousing himself from abstraction, as usual. "What do you mean?" "Why, if the French philosophers are right, these people are as well off as we are now, and it will all come to the same thing in the end, since there is no danger that the annihilated philosophers will laugh at them, as somebody says. Nay, in one sense they are better off, since they really do take a good deal of comfort in their belief. But if yonder good missionary and his followers are right, 'we' are making rather an awful mistake. A calculation which has eternity as one of its elements has more need to be correct than a problem in your favourite algebra." "You are right," said Victor. "Will you go with me to see the poor woman—Frau Reinhart, I think they call her?" asked Maurice, after another long silence. "This is our last day, you know, and perhaps we may come upon the preacher. I believe he lodges with her." "Frau Reinhart? Oh yes, the mother of our young friend of the churchyard. Certainly I will go with you. Anywhere rather than to that dinner at the Schloss, with its wine-drinking and stupid jesting, and the two priests watching one's every word and looking like ravens watching over a flock of sheep." "Oh, come! You are too hard on the good fathers. The elder at least is a kind-hearted man, and very good company. But I am as willing as yourself to escape the dinner. Perhaps the good woman will offer us some refreshment, or we will dine at the little inn. This is the house. Shall we knock?" "I trust you will do nothing rash, dame," said Count Maurice, somewhat anxiously.