The preparation for the departure began at once. The next day my mistress took me to the home herself, commended me to the special care of the directress, and I lived once more in the room containing the eight beds. I knew none of the girls and was not at all eager to know them. However, when I entered the dining-room in the evening I had a surprise. Somebody called my name. I was much astonished, and asked myself which of the girls could know me. The one who had called my name was sitting at the table to me with both of her hands.  
"Do come," she said .
 
I did not remember that I had ever seen her, and believed already that she was mistaking me for somebody else, when suddenly it came into my mind who she was. She was the girl who had slept next to me during my first stay at the home—the girl with the large, bright eyes and the auburn hair. I was now glad after all that somebody knew and greeted me.
 
"Are you looking out for a situation?" I asked her during supper.
 
"No," she replied, "I am living here"; and then she told me that she was a correspondent for German. I listened and shook my head.
 
"I cannot understand how you can put up with it—to stay here for good."
 
"Why?" she asked.
 
"Well, on account of the sleeping."
 
"I am used to it."
 
"I could never get used to that."
 
"In this world," she replied, "one has to put up with lots of things." And while she said that, her face grew very sad. When the bell rang for prayers we stood together, and when the was sung I listened to the soft note that trembled in the girl's voice. The next morning I to go to the British Museum, since they all told me "everyone ought to see that."
 
It was only a few minutes' walk from the home, so I did not have to make many about the way. When I arrived at the entrance I was charmed with the pigeons, which seemed to be quite tame and fearless, even taking food out of the people's hands. I should have loved to remain there and watch the sweet, birds, but there was something within that reproached me for my towards the treasures of the British Museum itself. In order to quiet that something, I at last mounted the steps leading to the different rooms. I am sorry to say that my knowledge is far too small to appreciate the treasures accumulated in these rooms. I remember innumerable things, black from age, lying behind glass cases; their meaning and value, however, I did not understand. When I entered the room with the Egyptian mummies I felt the same that I felt as a child on entering a church, and I only dared to walk about on tip-toe. That respect passed, however, the longer I gazed at the dark, lean faces, and finally they seemed to me to be no more than large babies put in swaddling clothes. There in front of me, a glass case held the last of a King—a hand with yellow rings. Once upon a time that same hand had moved imperiously, and a thousand slaves had trembled at the sign. "Where is thy country to-day—where thy army, and where art thou thyself, oh King? And what, oh tell me, became of all thy agonies, and what became of all thy joys?" Thus I questioned the dark hand with its yellow rings, and the reply I found was a conviction new to me. That there does not exist a real self—that God has not finished His creation yet—that we are the means towards an object, but not the object itself.
 
After much wandering to and fro, I arrived at a room that also contained glass cases, to which large and small pieces of brown paper were carefully pinned. At first I looked at them with wondering curiosity, but next minute I was overcome with . The brown pieces of paper were , which I had often heard of, but never seen. There were several of them, but I returned again and again to the one above which stood the following : "Papyrus with five verses of an ode by Sappho to her brother Charaxus."
 
I could not turn my eyes away from it, and thus it happened that I went to the British Museum every day for the three weeks, in order to see the pigeons and the papyrus. I had an idea in my head of stealing the papyrus, but failed to accomplish that noble purpose owing to two policemen who were stationed close by, and who began to watch me suspiciously. Although the papyrus has, as I can see, not yet lost its old attraction, I must not forget to mention my visit to the famous "Tower." There, however, I did not care very much for the splendid which decorated the walls, nor for the large diamond in the jewel-room, round which the public crowded. I left rather quickly the narrow corridors, together with the gloomy rooms, and sat down on a bench in the court-yard, with melancholy feel............