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Jeffrey who was talking to him then, and I wondered to see him look so pleased when everybody in and about the house was pale as ashes." "Do you know the name of that boy?" I carelessly inquired. "His name? O no. He is one of Raucher's waiters; the curly-haired one. You see him everywhere; but I don't know his name.
The two families live together in one house, with their lovely children. We took tea with them, and then proceeded up Steinthal to Waldbach, to the house of the late pious Oberlin. Pastor Raucher's wife and daughter were out when we arrived; but we spent a little time with the dear old Louise, who is lively in spirit, us to be near her.
It is a singular fact that, fearful of losing their character, or, what, perhaps, was dearer to them, their chocolate, the worthy cenobites were so diligent in suppressing Raucher's work that four copies only of it are said to be in existence.
But here a surprise, if not a check, awaited me. The florist's boy had left his place and no one could tell where he had gone. Neither could I find the curly-haired waiter at Raucher's. He had left also, but it was to join the volunteers at San Antonio. Was there meaning in this coincidence? I resolved to know.
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