THE CRIMSON RIBBON
Bernard Horn—he wasn't a doctor then—often went into the town, he used to get things for us as well as for himself. You were indoors a good deal, for you were very busy then, finishing your thesis for your doctor's degree. In the evenings, when it didn't rain, we used to go for walks, and our young friend Bernard often accompanied us. One evening at the end of May you didn't want to go as usual. You were so much interested in an article in a magazine which had come that day from Brussels that we couldn't tear you away from it, and we went off by ourselves, laughing and chattering together."
"Yes, yes," said Edward Roggenfeldt quietly. "The author had so mixed his true judgments with paradoxes that even now I haven't forgotten the article. I sat over it a long time, looked up some points in several other books, and then in consequence wrote three superfluous pages of my thesis. Superfluous, that is, in comparison with my original idea, but as I think not entirely superfluous in essence."
He was silent for a few moments and then went on:
"However, half an hour after your departure I came after you. I remember it
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