"Rollmann! what will become of that model? Frau Councilloress Witte will not live for ever. She is old, puffy, and red, and might have apoplexy any day. Is her husband an astronomer?"
"O dear no! he regards astronomy as as unprofitable a study as astrology. It is quite as expensive a pursuit, he says."
"Merciful heavens! Suppose she were to predecease—he would have the moon, and be unable to appreciate it. He might let it get dusty, have the craters and seas choked; perhaps the mountain-tops knocked off. He must not have it."
"It cannot be helped. The moon must take its chance."
"It must not be. She must outlive the Councillor."
"If you can manage that—well."
"But—supposing she does outlive him, she is not immortal. Some day she must die. Who will have the moon then?"
"I suppose, her daughter."
"What will the daughter do with it?"