[THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN].
Privy Councillor Von Ernau was sitting in his dining-room, at the little round table, which was to-day set for but one person. He was not fond of dining alone; guests were always invited to join him at this meal, which was on table punctually at four o'clock. Certainly gay conversation is the best seasoning for delicate viands. Neither well-prepared food nor excellent wine delighted the Councillor's palate if partaken of in solitude. He therefore reflected sadly, as he sipped his soup, upon the number of days upon which he should now be obliged to dine alone,--fourteen, at the very least. He sighed profoundly. Fourteen days appeared an endless time to him. Since the finding of Egon's body had established the fact that the unfortunate Councillor von Ernau had lost his only son, eight days had passed; for eight days he had worn deep mourning. Until eight days ago there had been some doubt as to his calamity, and he had not felt it necessary to deny himself all social pleasures; but now there was no help for it. As a father overwhelmed with grief, such joys were not for him. He glanced sadly enough at the broad band of crape that encircled his left arm.
During the first few days after the finding of the body there had been some satisfaction in the sensation produced in Berlin by the actual death of Egon von Ernau. It had been very interesting to read the accounts in the papers, to receive visits of condolence, to show to each new-comer how profound was the grief that wrung the paternal bosom; then came all the arrangements for the funeral, which was magnificent. Thus occupied the time passed quickly, and the sacrifice of a solitary dinner was a matter of course, but now? The visits of condolence had ceased, the funeral was over, the newspapers said nothing more with regard to the death of Herr Egon von Ernau, the Councillor felt very lonely, and the thought that he must yet pass at least fourteen days secluded from all the delights of the capital made him very sad. It really was a hard fate to lose an only son in the bloom of youth, and to have to go into mourning for him besides!
The soup was delicate, but he did not relish it. He looked up with a sigh----The spoon dropped from his fingers and fell clinking into his soup-plate, as he gazed with staring eyes at the ghost which suddenly confronted him in broad daylight,--a ghost the very presentment of his dead son. There it stood in the open door-way. No, it did not stand; it moved as if made of flesh and blood; it walked with the elastic step that had been Egon's, through the room and directly towards its solitary occupant.
"Good-day, sir," Egon remarked, as quietly as if he had just returned from a short walk; and then, turning to the servant, who stood staring in no less terror than his master, he said, "Bring me a plate, Johann, and be quick, for I am desperately hungry."
No ghost speaks thus; no ghost coolly draws a chair up to a table and sits down.
"Good God!" exclaimed the Councillor, who could not yet collect himself, "is it really you, Egon? and alive?"
"As you see, sir, alive, and very hungry. Will you have the kindness to order Johann to bring me a plate and not to stand there staring at me? I think my appetite will soon convince both you and him that I am alive."
Johann hastened to obey the order, and the Councillor no longer doubted that his son was before him. He took up his spoon again, wiped a spot of soup off the handle with his napkin, and as he did so eyed his resuscitated son with an air of anything but delight. "You are alive, then," he said, peevishly; "and that you are so destroys the only satisfactory excuse that there could be for recklessly plunging me into the greatest embarrassment by your sudden disappearance, just when your betrothal was announced."
"Did I embarrass you, sir?" asked Egon, upon whom the paternal reproof appeared to produce but a slight impression. "I am sorry, but I should not have believed it. You are not wont to be easily embarrassed. So far as I can learn, you have had a very agreeable time. The variety which the sensation caused by my disappearance, by the discovery of my body, and at last by my funeral must have introduced into your monotonous existence has certainly been entertaining. The crape upon your arm becomes you admirably; it is a pity to have to take it off, but then you will be indemnified for its loss by the fresh sensation which the prodigal's return will-excite. We shall both form the topic of Berlin gossip for at least a week. Dead men do not rise from their graves every day. The funeral, I hear from Freistetten, was really brilliant, quite worthy of your distinguished taste. I regret not to have witnessed it. However, I can go to the church-yard tomorrow to look at my grave and admire the flowers with which you have adorned it. I must beg you to accept my thanks for them."