“Personally I’d have him anything rather than a rhymester,” the mother burst out passionately, without concealing her horror at such a prospect. “But with the present unrest what else is left for a gifted young man?” proceeded the Jesuit. Then he added in a lower voice, “One day we are Prussian, the next French, and we may be Russian some day, God only knows. And while you know how free I am from prejudice, the boy’s faith will be in his way. I hear that the Jews in Berlin have almost exhausted the holy water of the baptismal font there.” He laughed indulgently as he referred to the great number of conversions in the Prussian capital. “No one knows better than you,” she presently said, “that you can’t make a good Christian of a good Jew. The most you can do is to turn a bad Jew into a worse Christian.” They both laughed amicably. “Honestly, I don’t believe Albert has a religious sense,” she added a moment later. “Nothing is too sacred for him to make fun of.” “That’s only the boy’s sense of humor,” he contradicted her. “He has more religion than you think. Sentiments of any kind are impossible without a religious sense, and Albert is full of sentiment—” Albert’s entrance interrupted further conversation. Bowing, he walked up to Father Schumacher and kissed his extended soft white hand. The rector’s eyes now rested upon the boy’s face with renewed interest. He was still thinking of his suggestion to the mother. Albert’s narrowed eyes registered acute sensitiveness. The mother’s eyes also fell upon her son as if she, too, had noticed the peculiar expression on his countenance for the first time. “What a pity he was not born a Catholic,” muttered the former priest as Albert bowed out of the room. When the rector was gone the mother took her son in hand. She did not scold him—she never scolded him—she only tried to reason with him. “Albert, dearest, what will become of you?” she pleaded. He said nothing. He stood like an accused at the bar of justice, guilt in his heart. “How can you ever amount to anything unless you pass your examinations—especially in mathematics?” she proceeded. The unshed tears in the mother’s eyes overflowed. His eyes, too, began to fill. He was not grieved because he had failed in mathematics but it pained him to have his mother worried. He was silent. He had no words of justification. Soon his chin began to quiver, his lips to twitch, and his eyelashes trembled. “Father’s business is going from bad to worse,” she resumed in a kind, though plaintive, tone, “and what can one do without money? Everybody thinks we are well-to-do, but we have hardly anything. If it weren’t for Uncle Leopold we would have been on the point of starvation long before this.” Still not a word from Albert. Only hot tears burned his tender eyelids.