struck her more than anything else. Sara loved to see power in man or woman; but assumption she hated with a hatred that was almost ludicrous. Just at this time the door opened, and a fresh-looking young gentleman entered, started on seeing so many guests, and was about to back out again; but Falkenberg sprang up, saying: ‘_Willkommen!_ you thought I was alone, I expect. Come in and join us.’ With which he introduced him as Baron Arthur Eckberg, to the two Berlin ladies in particular. He was awarded a seat between them. Helene’s black brows relaxed in their frown. Presently her voice was heard in dulcet tones. She was appeased; and the countess became more radiant than ever. When the party again repaired to the salon, a rather confused conversation ensued. It was found that three hours remained to be disposed of, before it would be time to return to the railway station. Herr Falkenberg, with a courteous patience which was beautiful to behold, tried to find out what his lady-guests, to use an ancient phrase, ‘would be at.’ This was rather a difficult task, as the Lehnberg sisters displayed emphatically ‘a diversity of gifts, but the same spirit,’—the gifts, namely, of caprice, contrariety, and perverseness, and the same spirit of cool self-seeking and resolution that all should give way to them. Some one appealed to Sara. ‘Thank you,’ said she, holding up a little sketching-board, ‘the present professional opportunity is too good to be missed. I am going to sketch the _Dom_, if my going out alone will not be thought rude. I can find my way to the Market Square, and I will come back here in plenty of time, so I beg that no one will be in any trouble about me.’ ‘Don’t go far away from here, as I may join you later, _when_ the others have made up their minds,’ said the countess, in the blandest of voices. ‘Very well,’ said Sara, smiling, and, with a slight salute to the rest of the company, she took her way out of the house. Falkenberg had not said a word either for or against her resolution to go out alone. She left the garden, pausing once again to contemplate with a peculiar pleasure the old grey gateway, and to read over the inscription, which seemed now to have a new meaning for her. ‘_Mein Genügen_,’ she thought. ‘Yes, I should fancy that that man would make a “contentment” wherever he goes. There is the harmony of a strong soul at peace with itself and the world, in all he says and does. But I wonder he is not married. I could imagine some woman being very much in love with him; and if he loved her, he would most assuredly make her happy. Well, Carla says that with the exception of her husband and herself, the nicest people are not married.’ She smiled as she remembered that saying, and, looking up, found herself again in the centre of the Marktplatz, which was empty of all human life.