I looked at Ludwig's picture, and it seemed to me, indeed, as if I were looking at my father in his youth. All generations seemed to be combined in one, as if there were no such thing as time. Martella came into the room, dressed in her Sunday attire. "Good-morning, father," said she. "To-day you will hear somebody else say, 'Good-morning, father.'" I could not help wondering how Martella would appear to Ludwig. She seemed new to me. It seemed as if during the four years that she had been with us she had become taller and more slender. She wore the pearl-colored silk dress that had been my wife's, and had about her throat the red coral necklace that Bertha had sent her. Her unmanageable brown hair was arranged in the form of a coronet; and her walk and carriage were full of grace and refinement. Her face seemed lengthened, instead of being as round as it had once been; and her old defiant expression had given way to one of gentleness. Indeed, since the death of Gustava, a certain look of pain seemed to have impressed itself on her features, her large eyes had become more lustrous, and seemed full of unsatisfied longing. Johanna and her daughter had also arrayed themselves in their best clothes; at least, as far as that was possible with Johanna, for, since the death of her husband, she had always worn mourning. I rode off in the chaise with Rothfuss; Julius, with Johanna and her daughter, followed us. Martella remained in the house with Carl; and the schoolmaster's wife had come to assist in baking and cooking. When we reached the saw-mill, the miller said, "I have heard the news already--this is Ludwig's day." We drove on, and after a while Rothfuss said, "It seems to me that the trees are stretching and straightening themselves in order to appear at their best when our Ludwig goes by." When we arrived at the top of the last hill, Gaudens, who was breaking stones on the road, said: "Ludwig will have to own that the roads are not kept better in America than here." It was strange how the news of his return had been noised about. At the last village before reaching the station, Funk came out of the tavern and called out, "Rothfuss! Stop!" Rothfuss turned towards me with an inquiring look, and I told him to stop. Funk now informed me that he had succeeded in inducing the members of Ludwig's party to refrain from receiving him at the railroad station with a festive procession. He did not wish to interfere with the family festivities; but on the following Sunday, the friends of freedom would take the liberty of greeting Ludwig as one who belonged to mankind. I could only reply that I could decide nothing for my son,--that he was free and would act for himself. Funk went back into the tavern. We drove on. Rothfuss remarked, "That fellow is like a salamander; when he tries to climb a rock and falls on his back, he turns about and is on his feet again quicker than thought."