The fear of sleeplessness is almost worse than the reality; but one falls asleep at last without knowing how, and so it shall some day be with our final sleep. And, often, when the tired body had fallen asleep, the troubled soul would awaken it again. At these moments I would say to myself, "Life is a solemn charge." It went hard with me to renounce perfect happiness. One morning, when I was just about to go out into the fields, Martella came running towards me. She was almost out of breath, and told me that the captain's wife was over in the garden of the school-master's wife, and had fainted. She had received a letter with bad news. Her husband had been shot in the forehead, and was dead. My wife hurried on ahead of me, and stepped as quickly as in the days of her youth. When I reached the garden gate, Annette was already sitting on a bench. She had her arms around Gustava's neck, and had buried her face in my wife's bosom. She raised her head and said, "The flowers still bloom." Then she covered her face with her hands, and sobbed bitterly. My wife placed her hand on Annette's head, and said, "Weep on. You have a right to lament. Let them not dare come and say, 'Conquer your pain, for hundreds suffer just as you do.' Were there thousands to suffer this same grief, every one must suffer it for himself, and through life carry a wounded heart. You are very, very unhappy. You were life and joy itself: you must now know what it is to be sad. It is a hard lesson, and although I bear my burden, that will not lighten yours. That you must bear for yourself, as none besides you can." Annette raised her head, and when she saw me, extended her hand, saying at the same time: "You knew him well; but no one knew him as I did. He was a hero, with a soul as pure as a child's. Can it be? Can it be possible that he lives no more? Can a mere bullet put in end to so much beauty, so much happiness? Surely it cannot be! Why should it have been he? Why should this stroke fall on me? Forgive me, Bertha, you were stronger and more determined than I. And how your husband will mourn him! Victor, do you know what has happened? Uncle Hugo is dead! And in the very hour of his death I may have been laughing. Alas, alas! Forgive me for making you all so sad. I cannot help myself." We had not yet left the garden, when the kreis-director entered. He was accompanied by a tall gentleman who was a stranger to us. "Max, you here!" exclaimed Annette. "While I was happy, you did not come to me, but now you do come. How kind!" She threw her arms around his neck, and I then learned that he was her brother. We retired, leaving them together.