Offenheimer then told me how happy it had made him to find his son growing up in comparative ignorance of such persecutions--he had thus developed naturally. He smiled sadly, as he added that he, though he had grown physically larger and more active, had acquired a lightness of heart which the man who is obliged to win his freedom before enjoying it, never acquires. "I do not mourn for my son," were his words: "he had reached the most beautiful period of life, and it is all the same, whether a man lives seventeen years or seventy. No man liveth to himself, and no one dieth to himself, says the apostle; and that is true. I understand it to be true in another sense as well. Each of us dies only to his connections and his posterity." It was a novelty to me to hear Holy Writ referred to as simply the teachings of wisdom. I have since then often found educated Israelites are not so much Jews, as simply not Christians. Offenheimer thanked me with great tenderness for the wonders that we had accomplished with Annette. She had been proud and selfish; now she had become humble, and lived for others. As I sat with him, the Rabbi of the place came and expressed his thanks for the generous subscription that had been made in memory of the fallen. One word, which the priest then uttered, went straight to my heart. He said the bereaved father would find consolation; for the Talmud declared that the patriarch Jacob could not suppress his sufferings and his tears for his lost son Joseph, because he felt within himself that his son still lived. Grief for one who is dead vanishes when the corpse becomes clay; for a living lost one, the grief endures. Oh! my lost son Ernst! Upon my return home, I found, awaiting me in the village, a man in a blue blouse, with a short pipe in his mouth, and wearing his cap awry. He approached me with a military salute, and said, "Yes, it is you." "Who am I?" "His father." "Whose father?" "Our sergeant's, Ernst Tännling." "That is not my name." "Of course! But he has confided to me--he took me, indeed, for a German--that his name was Waldfried. Do you remember that I met you in Paris during the World's Exposition. Your son deserted in 1866, and has a bride. Have I the correct signs now?" Alas! he had them, and again I heard that Ernst had entered the service in Algiers, and now, probably, was in the onward movement against Germany. The veteran allowed me no time for reflection. He confided to me, with great urgency and secrecy, that he could be of great service. He knew that I had great influence, and wanted me to conduct him to some officer of high rank; he could be of great service, but must receive liberal pay. I had learned much in life, but for the first time there stood before me a man who offered me his services as a spy. He had seized my hand, and it seemed as if his touch had soiled it.