From the days of his earliest manhood, Crammon, a pilgrimupon the paths of pleasantness and delight, had been a constantwayfarer from capital to capital and from country-seatto country-seat. He came of an Austrian family whose landedestates lay in Moravia, and his full name was BernardGervasius Crammon von Weissenfels.

In Vienna he owned a small but beautifully furnished house.Two old, unmarried ladies were its guardians—the MissesAglaia and Constantine. They were his distant kinswomen,but he was devoted to them as to sisters of his blood, and theyreturned his affection with an equal tenderness.

On an afternoon in May the two sat by an open window andgazed longingly down into the street. He had announced thedate of his arrival by letter, but four days had passed and theywere still waiting in vain. Whenever a carriage turned thecorner, both ladies started and looked in the same direction.

When twilight came they closed the window and sighed.Constantine took Aglaia’s arm, and together they went throughthe charming rooms, made gleamingly ready for their master.All the beautiful things in the house reminded them of him,just as every one of them was endeared to him because it unitedhim to some experience or memo

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