"You knew the deceased?" asked the doctor.
"Otocki was my relative."
"Ah, what a horrible mistake it was?"
But Swidwicki blurted out:
"That was no mistake. That is the logical result of the times, and in those that are coming such accidents will become a customary, every-day occurrence."
"How do you understand that?"
"The way it should be understood. That coffin has greater meaning than it seems. That is an announcement! A mistake? No! That was only an incident. Lo, to-day we are burying a harp, which wanted to play for the people, but which the rabble trampled upon with their filthy feet.--Wait, sir! Let things continue to proceed thus, and who knows whether, after ten or twenty years, we will not thus bury learning, art, culture, bah! even the entire civilization. And that not only here but everywhere. There will be an endless series of such events.--To me, after all, it is all one, but absolutely it is possible."
The doctor ruminated for some time in silence over Swidwicki's words; finally he exclaimed:
"Ah, knowledge, knowledge, knowledge."
Swidwicki stood still, seized the doctor by the flap of his coat and shaking his goat-like beard, said: