"Gottlieb!" he cried, "God has greatly afflicted you; but let us trust His mercy."
Adler gave him a lingering glance, then pointed to his son's dead body and said:
"Look, Martin! that is myself; it is not his corpse, it is my own. There lies my factory, my fortune, my hope. But no! ... he is alive!... Tell me that, and I shall be calm. How my heart aches!..."
The pastor led him away into the garden, the doctor and the seconds left, the servants dispersed.
"Do you know what is the worst of it?" continued Adler. "In a year's time, or perhaps sooner, the doctors will discover a way of curing such wounds; but what will be the good of that to me? I would have given everything now for such a discovery."
The pastor took his hand.
"Gottlieb, how long is it since you have prayed?"
"I don't know ... thirty—forty years."
"Do you remember your prayers?"
"I remember that I had a son."