THE OPPERMANNS called Quelques Fleurs. Herr Wolfsohn was proud of his ele- gant French accent, "No," he said, "I'm all for Quelques Fleurs." After the excitements of the morning and noon, it was a quiet afternoon. And then came the best part of the day, the evening. Markus Wolfsohn during his trip horne, though the air in the subway was smoky and stuffy, already feIt the thrill of the snug security which would surround hirn in his home. He went up the steps from the station. Here, already, were the farniliar trees. Here the strip of meadowland which was going to be built up next year. Now he was in Friedrich Karl Strasse. And here was his belaved block of apartments. Yes, Markus Wolfsohn was fond of that block, he was proud of its two hundred and seventy flats, each as like the other as so many tins of sardines. And Herr Wolfsohn belonged in his flat just as the sardine does in its tin. My home is my castle was one of the few Eng- lish sentences he remembered from his three years at the tech- nical school. He climbed the stairs of the hause. The srnell of cooking met hirn on every floor. Radio music sounded through the doors. His door was the one on the right on the third floor. Before he opened it he had the slight sensation of fury he experienced every day. For on the door next his own was a visiting card, which read: Rüdiger Zarnke. Herr Wolfsohn looked at the visiting card grimly. He was a mild man, but he was often possessed of a furious desire to tear that card down. He feIt hirnself on common ground with all, or at least with the great majority, of the inhabitants of the block. Their joys, their sorrows, and their opinions were his own. They were his friends. Herr Zarnke was his enemy. It was not only that Herr Zarnke's brother..in..law had made frantic efforts to obtain pos- session of the Bat next door to Zarnke's, which was his, Herr