"God knows there are!" thought Aunt Rikchen, but she did not say it, and followed the procession which was moving to the door.
But Uncle Ernst was standing again as before, with his arms folded across his breast, and looking fixedly at the spot where in his mind's eye he still saw the same touching picture.
"Death was in her heart!" he murmured, "and she knew it. She said it so meekly, and I did not understand it. There are no more miracles, but there are signs given to those who have eyes to see. I asked for a sign!"
His arms relaxed their pressure, and two burning tears dropped from his eyelashes and rolled down his furrowed cheeks to his grey beard. He looked round timidly, but no one had seen him weep.
With his stately head bent low, but a step as firm as ever, he left the studio.
CHAPTER V.
An hour later--at a few minutes before twelve--a carriage drove up to the departure-platform of the Berlin and Sundin railway station, and August jumped quickly from the box to assist the General. The General mounted the steps, while August looked round in vain for a porter.
"I told you so," called the driver, handing the small portmanteau to August. "We ought to know!"
"Perhaps it is all the better so," thought August, hastening after his master, who was standing in the empty hall at the booking-office, before the closed windows of which the green curtains had been let down.
"So the man was right after all," said the General.