"Here is an empty carriage," said Justus.
"Farewell, my dear Justus! Say goodbye again to Cilli for me, and Herr Kreisel, and tell him not to trust in the Sundin-Wissow; and hearty thanks for your friendship and affection."
"Not a word more, or--I am desperately sentimental to-day. This love--this horrible----" Justus smothered the rest of his blasphemy in a mighty embrace, pulled his broad-brimmed hat over his eyes, and rushed away.
"Good fellow!" said Reinhold to himself, as he arranged his goods in the carriage. "I never should have credited him with it. Strange! What has restored to me courage, and the old feeling of security, has robbed him of his ready creative power and his cheery humour. And yet the impediments which lie in his way are child's-play compared to those that surround us. God grant he may soon smile again! Cilli is right--he cannot live without sunshine." Reinhold had seated himself. The signal for starting had already been given, when the door was again thrown open, and a gentleman was hastily bundled in by the guard.
"Here, please, I have no more empty carriages. Your ticket at the next station!" The guard shut the door.
"Good-evening, President; allow me," said Reinhold, taking the President's great travelling-bag and putting it in the net.
"Good gracious! is it you?" cried the President. "Where are you going?"
"I would not fail to present myself before you in Sundin on the 1st of December, according to your orders," answered Reinhold, rather surprised.
"Yes, yes, of course!" said the President. "Pardon me--such a stupid question! I am so worried, so perplexed--once more, forgive me!" And he stretched out his hand to Reinhold with his accustomed gracious friendliness.
"It is quite unnecessary, President," said Reinhold; "I know that you are busied about more important things and men."