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250 stances Graesler preferred not to venture upon any further conversation regarding his future plans, explained evasively that he was in any case minded to wait for advices from the contractor, and finally invited the friend of his youth—though not so heartily as he had intended—to visit him soon at his house on the Burggraben. It did not occur to the doctor until now that he still owed the attorney thanks for the assiduity with which he had superintended the paper-hanging. Boehlinger declined the thanks modestly, but said that at any rate he found happiness in the prospect of soon setting foot again in a house which was not exactly poor in memories of his own youth, though these were unfortunately all too dim. They shook hands and looked one another in the eye. Those of the attorney seemed about to become moist; but even now Graesler was insensible of any such emotion as that which he had all day been vainly expecting and which would have been able to soften for him the sorry aftertaste of that hour.

A minute later he stood upon the street with an almost torturing feeling of inner desolation. The sky had cleared up and the air had grown milder. Doctor Graesler strolled through the principal street of the town, stopped in front of several display-windows, and felt gently gratified that a modern taste was now beginning clearly to proclaim itself everywhere in his native city. At last he stepped into a haberdashery where, in addition to several trifles, he intended to buy a hat.

Contrary to his usual custom, this time he chose a hat with a soft form and a fairly broad brim, and found, on looking in a mirror, that it was more becoming to him than the stiff headgear to which he used to consider himself pledged. Nor could he possibly think this an illusion when, on continuing his walk as twilight came on, the women seemed here and there to be surveying him with critical, but approving glances. Suddenly it occurred to him that in the meantime a letter might have arrived from Sabine. He hurried home. A number of letters had come—for the most part they were forwarded from the little watering-place—but there was none from Sabine among them. Disappointed at first, he soon realized that he had been expecting the improbable, nay, the impossible; he left the house again and strolled aimlessly about through the streets. Later on he hit upon the notion of riding some little distance in the tram which had stopped near him. He remained standing on the rear