brother, a lieutenant in the guards,—a handsome young man with a spirited and lively face; also of his sister, the wife of a consul-general, a little bird-like creature, hardly more than a child, with nervous twitching eyes and a sickly smile.
And here, by the writing table, sat Emanuel, the eldest of Councillor Hansted's children. He was sitting resting his chin on his hand, in a brown dressing gown, in the act of opening a letter. It was from his father; he had received it the previous day, but had put off reading it, so as not to be disturbed in the composition of his sermon. Now he opened it almost unwillingly, and read it through, at first hastily and abstractedly. There were the usual insignificant details of family events—his brother had been to a court ball,—the consul's birthday dinner,—his sister's baby had got a tooth, and so on. By degrees his attention was arrested. He read more slowly, word by word, sometimes with a thoughtful smile, and at last with a touch of sadness. The end ran thus:
"As you may imagine, my dear son, we are all delighted to hear that you are well and contented in your wilderness—as your brother in joke always speaks of it. There is no doubt that you have chosen a noble and exalted profession; and though I don't deny that I would rather have seen you choose a position in life more in accordance with our family traditions, and one which would not have taken you so far
