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 on to postcards and sent off. When replies arrived from the families and offices, the censorists did not receive them into their hands, but one of the acountant's clerks came, had them all summoned into one cell, and read the replies to them. In this way the Monarchy protected itself against all possible dodges of those who otherwise were everywhere its favourites, but who had here lapsed into a condition of guilt.

As soon as Mr. Fiedler appeared in the cell with a sheet of clean paper, everybody rushed up to him to say that he wanted some too. Mr. Fiedler smiled and replied to these requests only with a shrug of the shoulders; he even refused to give the censorists more than the authorities had specified, but Mr. Fels, like the Roman Curtius, one day resolved upon a leap into the abyss. He uttered a few quiet words to Mr. Fiedler, the latter listened attentively to them, and uttered likewise quiet words in reply; whereupon Mr. Fels called Mr. Goldenstein aside, conversed with him as well, Mr. Goldenstein nodded, and said it was a matter of course,—and after a while Mr. Fiedler was back again with several sheets of paper. He also offered me some, in case I should like to make a note of this or that. I refused it.

For the following Saturday Mr. Fels gave an order to the caterer who supplied us with food and other things, for a shirt; Mr. Goldenstein ordered one as well, the third censorist, Mr. Fröhlich, ordered a broom and a clothes-brush; then, when on the Saturday evening the pious sabbath singing resounded from the cell of the rabbinate students, and was immediately drowned by the wild circus-music from the orderlies' room, Mr. Fels smiled and said to Mr. Goldenstein: "They are drinking away our shirts."

"And my brush and broom" added Mr. Fröhlich.

When the first replies arrived for the censorists as a result of the