. . .My wife, too, and my sons. We may not speak until she gives the word. Alas! we shall be turned out to die in our—"

"We have been faithful servants to the Rothhoefens for sixty years," sobbed his wife.

"And still are, I suspect," I cried angrily.

"Ach, mein herr, mein herr!" protested Conrad, greatly perturbed.

"Where are the keys, you old rascal?" I demanded so sternly that even
Poopendyke was startled.

Conrad almost resorted to the expediency of grovelling. "Forgive! forgive!" he groaned. "I have done only what was best."

"Produce the keys, sir!"

"But not to-night, not to-night," he pleaded. "She will be very angry. She will not like it, mein herr. Ach, Gott! She will drive us out, she will shame us all! Ach, and she who is so gentle and so unhappy and so—so kind, to all of us! I—I cannot—I cannot! No!"

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