"Don't you think my friend has been uttering some very bitter truths?" asked the banker, with a smile.
"Pretty nearly so," replied the official demurely. "However, one can detect the design, and cannot help getting out of humor."
"What design?" asked Seraphin.
"Of creating alarm against progress."
"Indeed, sir, you are mistaken. I, too, am enthusiastic about progress, but genuine progress. And because I am an advocate of real progress I cannot help detesting the monstrosity which the age would wish to palm off on men instead."
The church was now cleared. Greifmann's carriage was at the door. The millionaires drove off.
"Pity for this Gerlach!" thought the official, as he strode through the street. "He is lost to progress, for he is too solidly rooted in superstition to be reclaimed. War against nature's claims; deny healthy physical nature its rights; re-establish terror of the seven capital sins; permit the priesthood to tyrannize over conscience; restore the worship of an unmathematical triune God--no! no!" cried he fiercely, "I shall all go to the devil!"
A carriage whirled past him. He caste a glance into the vehicle, and raised his hat to Mr. Hans Shund.
The chief magistrate was on his way home from the town-hall. He could not rest under the weight of his laurels; the inebriation of his triumph drove him into the room where sat his lonely and careworn wife.
"My election to the assembly is assured, wife." And he went on with a minute account of the proceedings of the day.