The trees on both sides looked like leaping animals in a photograph; the white riband of the road rolled shimmering toward them and was devoured by the roaring car; the reddening sky and the hills on the horizon seemed to swing in circles; the air seethed in their ears; their bodies vibrated and yearned to be whirled still more swiftly over an earth that revealed all the allurement of its smoothness and rotundity. Suddenly a black dot arose in the white glare of the road. Christian gave a signal with his horn. The dot quickly assumed human form. Again the signal shrieked. The figure did not yield. Christian grasped the steering wheel more firmly. Alfred Meerholz rose in his seat and shouted. It was too late for the brake. Christian reversed the wheel energetically; it went a trifle too far. There was a jolt, a concussion, a crash, the groan of a splintering tree, a hissing and crackling of flame, a clash and rattle of steel. It was over in a moment. Christian lay stunned. Then he got up and felt his limbs and body. He could think and he could walk. “All’s right,” he said to himself. Then he caught sight of the body of his friend. The young man lay under the twisted and misshapen chassis with a crushed skull. A little trickle of scarlet blood ran across the white dust of the road. A few paces to one side stood in surprised stupor the drunken man who had not made way. People at once began gathering hurriedly from all directions. There was a hotel near by. Christian answered many questions briefly. The drunken man was taken in custody. A physician came and examined young Meerholz’s body. It was placed on a stretcher and carried into the hotel. Christian telegraphed first to General Meerholz, then to Crammon. His travelling bag had not been injured. While he was changing his clothes, police officers arrived, and took down his depositions concerning the accident. Then he went to the dining-room and ordered a meal and a bottle of wine. He barely touched the food. The wine he gradually drank. He saw himself standing in the dim hot-house awaiting Letitia. She had come animated by her excitement. Languishing and jesting she had whispered: “Well, my lord and master?” And he had said to her: “Have the image of a small toad made of gold, and wear the charm about your throat in order to avert the evil magic.” Her kiss seemed still to be burning on his lips. At eleven o’clock that night came Crammon, the faithful. “I beg of you, my dear fellow, attend to all necessary arrangements for me,” Christian said. “I don’t want to pass the night here. Adda Castillo will be getting impatient.” He handed Crammon his wallet. Christian was thinking again of the romantic girl who, like all of her temper, gave without knowing what she gave or to whom, nor knew how long life is. But her kiss burned on his lips. He could not forget it.