BOOK ONE: YESTEltDAY 45 atternpt to make Ruth Oppermanns out of fashionable Berlin ladies. Professor Edgar Oppermann, the doctor, was standing talk- ing to Rector Francois, headmaster of the Queen Louise School, Edgar, like all the Oppermanns somewhat stout, but possessing at the same time a certain elasticity of movement, was midway between dark and fair. He merdy smiled at the foolish, arbitrary charaeter of all race theories. How many blood tests had been made, how many skulls hadbeen rneas- ured, how many hairs had been examined, all to no purpose! Edgar Oppermann talked animatedly, not at all dogmatically, using many swift gestures. His hands were sensitive, slimmec than those of the other Oppermanns. They were the hands of a great surgeon. " .1 have never noticed," he concluded, smiling, "that the larynx of a so-called Aryan reaets to a certain stimuli. in a different way from that of a Semite." He was neither Jew, nor Christian, nor Semite, DDr Aryan; he was a throat specialist, Cl scientist, so sure of bis grouncl that he did not think it worthwhile to show either scorn, anger, or pity for the race-theorists. Rector Franceis agreed with him enthusiastically. He, too, was in the first place a scientist, a philologist. A passionate dev- otee of German Iiterature, a member of the Bibliophile Society for many years, he was a great friend of Gustav Opper- mann. Human nature, he declared, had not changed in the least within the memory of man. lf one were to consider the movement starred by Cataline, one would be astonished to find how closdy it resembled, to all appearance, the Nationalist movement, Exactly the same methods were employed in those days: rnass meetings, wild talk, unscrupulous staternents, vilest ignorance. "Let us hope that we too m:ay soon find a Cicero in our midst," he oonduded. The Iean gentleman with his delicate,

THE OPPERMANNS rosy complexion, his strong rimless speetacles, and his white, trim, upturned moustache spoke Huently, neither too quickly nor too slowly, in well-turned, printable sentences. He would certainly have preferred to devote himself to the volumes in the library rather than to the idly conversing people about hirn. However, more often than at the books, he cast furtive glances at a large, stocky lady in a dark silk dress, his wife. He was under her strict observation. If Frau Franccis lost sight of hirn for amoment, she would be sure to find him again the next. She had by DO means an easy time of it with her husband. He was so careless, always blurted out just what he thought. The political situation was, of course, quiet for the time being, but Frau Franccis put no faith in this tranquillity. Envious colleagues had their ears wide open everywhere, they carefully treasured each chance word. The moment the Nationalist party got the upper hand, an imprudent word, uttered today, might rob a man of his position, of his bread-and-butter. What would happen to her and their three children then? No one would pay hirn a cent for his treatises on the influence of the ancient hexameter on the vocabulary of Klopstock. But the thoughtless man would not listen to such arguments. He al- ways believed everything was all right as long as one could prove one's statements. If she tried to explain to hirn that now- adays accuracy meant nothing and became a little heated on the subject, he would patiently raise his eyes to heaven in mild protest. He would call her "Little Thundercloud." Oh, he didn't understand that it was only for his sake that she was worrying. He had no sense in practical matters. Frau Franccis pressed her lips together, looked gloomy. Rector Franccis glanced at her, then nervously looked away at onee. "Little Thundercloud," he thought. Franccis officiated at the Queen Louise School, to the Lower Sixth form of which Martin's son Berthold belonged. Martin joined them. He knew Franccis as a man of liberal views, easy