Sophie's eyes, though a little near-sighted, were yet very well able to see things near by, and thus she had not failed to notice a certain veil of embarrassment which hung over Bemperlein's honest face, while he blamed the troublesome analysis. As the young lady was slowly walking homeward, and thought what might be the real reason why Bemperlein had stayed away, she came, just as she was turning around a corner, upon a gentleman who came hurriedly from the opposite direction. "Pardon!" said the gentleman, lifting his hat and hurrying on. It was Oswald Stein. He had evidently not recognized Sophie. This unexpected meeting gave a new direction to Sophie's thoughts. She remembered now that Bemperlein had not been at her house since he had met Oswald there, who was just about to leave with Helen; that the meeting of the two gentlemen had been very cold, strangely cold, and that Bemperlein had given evasive answers to all their questions about the relations in which he stood to Oswald. Was it Oswald, who had since spent several evenings there, once in company with Helen Grenwitz, who had frightened away Bemperlein? Was Bemperlein jealous? As Sophie knew nothing of Bemperlein's former relations to Oswald, she could of course hardly expect to guess rightly. The truth lay somewhere else. When Anastasius Bemperlein was no longer willing to shake hands with a man whom he had once esteemed highly and loved heartily, one might rest assured that a goodly portion of strong poison must have been mixed with his milk of human kindness. Anastasius Bemperlein had fully trusted Oswald Stein. He had seen the life and happiness of those he loved best in his hand without fear, and he had overcome all his apprehensions about a union formed so suddenly and resting on the unsafe basis of entirely different social positions. He had said to himself, "All this is idle nonsense in comparison with the invaluable price of true love. Is not love stronger than faith and hope; how can it fail to be stronger than foolish prejudices?" He had reached a point where he had seen in the union of Melitta and Oswald a triumph of pure humanity over the barbarism of civilization, and victory of truth over falsehood. But only upon such a lofty basis was such a union justifiable and possible. If one or the other sank below the level, both were lost. Bemperlein had known Fran von Berkow for seven years; he knew that her heart was true and good. Bemperlein had known Oswald for as many weeks, and he thought Oswald was worthy of her. He thought so because he had no choice; because to doubt would have seemed to him to insult his much-beloved friend. And yet such doubts had made their way to his heart, slowly, silently, as in our dreams a fearful monster drags itself towards us and we try in vain to escape. He had struggled against these doubts until he could struggle no longer.