Hertz was buried three days later in "Der weite Kirchhof."
I do not know whether the Jews in Dresden do not keep strictly to the Mosaic churchyard, or whether this unorthodox family had long before left the synagogue. At the—time I did not think about it; I thought of nothing,—indeed I hardly realised anything. Therefore I have no idea whether an address was given, or whether it was a Jewish Rabbi or Christian priest who performed the ceremony; if an eye-witness insisted that it was a Dervish or a Druid, it would be all the same to me. The whole thing stands to me as a bewildered dream. I remember that the giant Italian poplars rustled heavily and soothingly, and that some little birds twittered in the sharp cool sunlight. And then I see, a little in front of me to the right, Minna's black-draped form. It was for me, for her also I should think, not so much the dear old friend we buried, as our own short and happy life together,—our love. At the gate of the churchyard we pressed each other's hands firmly and long, the last time for many years.
Minna had told Mrs. Hertz everything.
"You have acted rightly," said the old lady to me the following day. "And poor Minna! She anyhow thinks she has acted for the best. But it pains me dreadfully, and not least for her sake."
I heard from her that Stephensen was going to Denmark in a few days in order to prepare everything, and that
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