HEIMBURG'S 
 WORKS
 
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 A POOR GIRL 
 
 W. HEIMBURG 
 
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 TRANSLATED BY ELISE L. LATHROP 
 
 WITH PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 WORTHINGTON COMPANY 
 
 747 BROADWAY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1892, BV 
 WORTHINGTON COMPANY 
 
 Press of J. J. Little & Co. 
 Astor Place, New York
 
 A POOR GIRL. 
 
 i. 
 
 |IKE a caressing touch, the mild damp spring 
 air, streaming into the room through the wide- 
 opened windows, played over the strangely pale and 
 quiet face of a very young woman, resting among the 
 pillows of the bed. The breeze raised the full blonde 
 curls on the pale brow, and stirred the curtains of a 
 cradle draped in blue, which, as if it were every- 
 where in the way, had been pushed into the furthest 
 corner of the room. 
 
 "Stand up, Hegebach," said a woman's deep voice. 
 " God gives and God takes away, and we must bear it 
 patiently." 
 
 She was a tall stout woman, in the forties, who with 
 
 213G264
 
 2 A Poor Girl. 
 
 these words approached the man who lay motionless 
 beside the bed, and had thrown his arms over the dead 
 woman as if in wild grief. He did not move now, and 
 the speaker hastily wiped a couple of tears from her 
 bright intelligent eyes. 
 
 " Hegebach, you must not, you cannot lie here the 
 whole day without food and drink. Come," she con- 
 tinued, her reproving tone ending in a half-suppressed 
 sob, " come, Hegebach, you still have duties think of 
 the child ! " 
 
 He groaned and rose. He was a man no longer 
 young, and grief made his bearded face with the un- 
 mistakably military cut of hair, appear much older ; his 
 eyes stared almost uncannily at the peaceful sweet 
 face which slumbered there so calmly. Then turning 
 away abruptly, he left the room, with clanking spurs, no 
 longer a mourner, but as one enraged, deeply insulted. 
 The woman left behind straightened the white cover- 
 let over the corpse, and smoothed the childish face ca- 
 ressingly, then brought the cradle from the corner and 
 carried it out. 
 
 In the opposite room something cried ; she hastily 
 opened the door and entered a small one-windowed 
 room, evidently that of the dead woman. It was inde- 
 scribably dainty, although almost too simple for a lady 
 of rank, with its white hangings and the work-table by 
 the window, through which one could look out into the 
 garden where the young tender green twigs swung in the 
 mild spring zephyrs. There was no one in the room,
 
 A Poor Girl. 3 
 
 only on the sofa a little white bundle, from which a 
 pair of tiny red fists protruded, and which emitted a 
 helpless cry. 
 
 The tall stately woman suddenly fell upon her knees 
 before the sofa, and weeping hid her face in the small 
 cushions. " Yes, yes," she whispered, " the world does 
 not smile upon you, you poor thing ! No mother, no 
 mother ! And your father acts as though God had 
 deeply insulted him in sending him a poor little girl. 
 Foolish little wight, why were you not a boy ? And 
 every one gone, of course ! They leave you here to 
 cry, and you are hungry, too." 
 
 She paused and gazed for a moment, as though pon- 
 dering, at the tiny puckered red face. " Wait, wait," 
 said she, quickly raising the child. " I will take you 
 with me to the castle ; what can he do with such an 
 atom ? " 
 
 Two days later the young Mrs. von Hegebach was 
 buried. Her short life was the talk of the day all over 
 the little city, and those who had not known her, soon 
 learned that she had been a penniless girl and had mar- 
 ried the man so much her senior, and also without for- 
 tune, for the sake of a home. No one had believed it 
 possible that he would ever marry; he had been already 
 an old bachelor, and surly and irritable besides. Now 
 it was just a year since this sunbeam had entered his 
 house what a short happiness ! 
 
 " If it really was one," said many. Captain von 
 Selchow assured several younger comrades, on the way
 
 4 A Poor Girl. 
 
 to the funeral, that he knew from authentic sources 
 that Hegebach's marriage had been a coup de de'sespoir. 
 He, Hegebach, some fifteen months before, had received 
 from his wealthy old uncle, the Bennewitzer, a letter 
 which informed him briefly and explicitly that the 
 uncle had no idea of leaving his fortune to a pair of 
 old bachelors, such as, unfortunately, both his nephews 
 were ; he wished to know for whom he had saved and 
 cared. Whichever of the two men first announced to 
 him the birth of a son and heir should be the chosen 
 one. Daughters were not to be considered. Hege- 
 bach's cousin, of the Fifteenth Dragoons, had not an- 
 swered this letter ; there was a rumor of an affair from 
 which he could not at once disentangle himself. But 
 our Captain a week later answered very laconically 
 with the notice of his betrothal, voilci, tout. The rest 
 the gentlemen knew ; to-day they attended the sad con- 
 clusion of the story. " She was a charming woman, 
 the little Hegebach a great pity," he concluded, 
 pathetically. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow of the castle had cared for the 
 young mother, and made the arrangements for the 
 funeral; there was a slight relationship between them. 
 The parents of the deceased were no longer living, but 
 the guardian had come to the burial early this morning. 
 Hegebach's comrades had appeared, and the regimental 
 band had preceded the flower-laden coffin through the 
 winding lanes, and played hymns. The widower fol- 
 lowed the hearse in his full uniform; his rigid face ex-
 
 A Poor Girl. 5 
 
 pressed no grief, but rather misanthropy; it even seemed 
 as if the lips under the full beard, already half gray, 
 curled in a scornful smile. 
 
 Then that was over. The people had gone. One 
 more fresh mound rose in the churchyard, and the 
 street before the house of mourning was again deserted ; 
 a single carriage still waited before the door, a carriage 
 drawn by a magnificent pair of horses, evidently belong- 
 ing to wealthy people. 
 
 In the dead wife's room the little basket cradle with 
 the sleeping child was rocked softly ; an old servant, 
 her hands in her lap, sat beside it, with eyes red from 
 weeping. She had draped the simple furniture in 
 sheets ; the dainty little table, the flowers at the window, 
 had vanished, as had curtains and rugs ; it looked de- 
 serted and uninhabited, as though the owner had gone 
 on a long journey. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow entered the Captain's gloomy 
 unhomelike sitting-room. She wore hat and cloak. 
 " Good-by, Hegebach ! " said she. " I must go home 
 now ; they have just sent for me. Moritz has come 
 and things have gone at sixes and sevens at home this 
 week. I need not assure you that the little child will 
 be well cared for." 
 
 He had stood at the window and stared out into the 
 narrow street ; now he turned and gazed in astonishment 
 at the resolute, still beautiful woman. 
 
 " Yes," she continued, " it needs care and attention, 
 Hegebach. A baby could not thrive here in your
 
 6 A Poor Girl. 
 
 smoky rooms. I do it for its mother's sake, for I am 
 no longer accustomed to little children Moritz is 
 twenty years old." 
 
 " I thank you, dear madam," he murmured ; "indeed 
 I did not know " 
 
 " Oh, no matter, dear Hegebach ; I should merely like 
 to beg you not to be angry with the poor little creature 
 because you will not receive that sand-hill, Bennewitz. 
 ' Man proposes, God disposes ; ' who knows how it may 
 all turn out ? " 
 
 " My cousin marries next month, my dear madam." 
 
 " Well, let him marry," was the answer. " If the 
 much-longed-for son is born to him, the estate and in- 
 heritance are his, that we have long known." 
 
 " And the child ! " he cried, for the first time letting 
 his wild grief burst forth, and tearing open his uniform. 
 " If it were not I, Lisa would still be alive ; were it 
 not I, a son would have cried in the cradle ! Who 
 am I to dare stretch out my hand for happiness ? " 
 
 " Hegebach ! " said Mrs. von Ratenow, reproachfully. 
 
 u A girl without fortune," he murmured with inde- 
 scribable bitterness ; " what that means in our rank in 
 the present time you know as well as I." 
 
 " Bad enough, to be sure. But she will get along as 
 do other poor girls she must learn to work ; has two 
 dear little sound hands, and two bright eyes. What 
 shall her name be ? " she finished calmly. " Shall she 
 have her mother's name, Elizabeth ? " 
 
 He nodded, and turned to the window again.
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Good-by, Hegebach. Will you not at least "see the 
 little thing once ? " 
 
 He pressed his forehead against the window-pane, 
 and made a hasty gesture of dissent. 
 
 " Well, then, I hope that this child may yet prove a 
 blessing from God to you, Hegebach that you will 
 thank Him on your knees for the consolation sent you 
 in your old age. May that be your reward ! " 
 
 She went to the dead wife's room, the flush of excite- 
 ment on her face. 
 
 " Take the child, Susan ; we will set out now." 
 
 And followed by the old woman, who carried the in- 
 fant, its face carefully wrapped in a blue veil, she got 
 into the carriage.
 
 8 A Poor Girl. 
 
 They had no long distance to drive down the street, 
 past the old court-house, which still bore on its walls 
 the traces of the thirty years' war in the form of iron can- 
 non balls, through several winding lanes and an old gate 
 which must date back to the middle ages, then along 
 the city walls, over which peeped the tops of blooming 
 fruit-trees, along a magnificent linden alley, and through 
 a hospitably opened gate, from which the front of a 
 high, massive building with a colossal pointed tiled 
 roof, mossy and gray with age, was visible. And just at 
 this moment, as the carriage rolled into the yard, the 
 sun shed a golden light over the old brick house, which 
 lay surrounded by lindens and ash-trees which had just 
 put forth a light green veil of leaves on their venerable 
 heads, as though it would give a greeting to the orphan 
 child upon her entrance to this house, which in charity 
 and compassion was to offer a refuge to her childhood. 
 
 The carriage stopped before the stately door, and 
 a strikingly tall young man, evidently still in travelling 
 garb, sprang down the steps, threw open the carriage 
 door violently, and kissed both hands of the lady as she 
 dismounted. 
 
 "Mother, had I suspected," he said, "but I could 
 not possibly go to the funeral in these clothes. But 
 what is that ? " he interrupted himself, and pointed to 
 the woman who had just alighted with the child. 
 
 "Lisa's child, Moritz. For God's sake, you will let 
 it fall." 
 
 But the young man with the frank handsome face
 
 A Poor Girl. 9 
 
 had already taken the little bundle in his arms and 
 carried it into the house, followed by the two women. 
 
 " Oh, goodness ! " he cried, having reached the com- 
 fortable sitting-room, gazing tenderly as a woman at the 
 tiny little face. " How it looks, mother ; so little and 
 twitching my poor dear Lisa ! " and he turned quickly 
 to the window as if he did not wish it to be seen 
 that his eyes were moist. " This is the consequence, 
 mother," he continued ; "had you not persuaded Lisa 
 to marry that old Captain she would be living yet." 
 
 " Moritz, you are a monster," replied Mrs. von 
 Ratenovv, and she took the child from him. " Shame 
 on you ! For whom should the girl have waited ? 
 The great boy has tears in his eyes. I cannot bear 
 to hear these laments of 'if and 'but,' Moritz. Lisa 
 has fulfilled her duty as a woman, let her rest." 
 
 " And the child will stay with us ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Moritz," replied his mother ; " where 
 should she go ? " 
 
 " That is so good of you," said he, and threw his 
 arm around the stately woman ; " good, as you alone 
 can be." 
 
 " No nonsense, Moritz. You know that I am no 
 sentimentalist," said she, calmly. " Your father had a 
 tendency that way, and you have inherited it, eh ? You 
 have again spent all that money in travelling expenses 
 so as to see your mother and your home again, you 
 boy, you ! " 
 
 She tried to look contemptuous, but she did not
 
 io A Poor Girl. 
 
 succeed ; the mother-love shone too plainly from her 
 eyes as she gazed at her only son. 
 
 "You have hit it, mother ; I had just time enough, 
 and I knew that you would not be vexed." 
 
 "This confidence," said she, smiling ; "how well you 
 know me ! But now we will attend to the child. 
 What do you think, Moritz ; shall I commission Aunt 
 Lott with her bringing up ? " 
 
 " What ? " he cried, astonished and yet amused. 
 " Then I must be present ! Give me the young lady, 
 I will carry her upstairs. I must witness the scene." 
 
 Aunt Lott was an adopted sister and cousin of Mrs. 
 von Ratenow and Canoness of Z ; but, with the 
 exception of the prescribed eight weeks which she 
 must spend each -year in Z , or else forfeit her 
 position, she lived at the castle. She was a quiet, not 
 too intelligent creature, delicate, pale, a bit literary, 
 and was the exact opposite of Mrs. von Ratenow, 
 although the two had grown up together since the 
 earliest childhood. Aunt Lott took a romantic view 
 of everything ; she lived and breathed in the poetry of 
 the higher spheres, " high above all the dust of earth." 
 She read everything that she could lay her hands upon, 
 and the more touching and heart-breaking the story 
 the more beautiful she thought it. She knew " The 
 Enchanted Rose " by heart, and when she recited the 
 last verse her emotion rose to the utmost height : 
 
 " Of all that blissful time remains to me 
 This song, my sufferings, and my love alone .'"
 
 A Poor Girl 
 
 II 
 
 This was really only sighed, not spoken. 
 
 Yes, fate had once showed her a prize she had 
 drawn a blank ; she had a " grave " in her heart, as she 
 was accustomed to assure her friends. 
 
 But in spite of that the two had always been good 
 friends. When her practical cousin married Baron von 
 Ratenow, Lott had remained with the lonely parents,
 
 12 A Poor Girl. 
 
 and after their death she found several pleasant rooms 
 in the upper story of the spacious castle, in which 
 everything was so scrupulously neat that one fairly 
 feared to tread upon the dazzlingly polished parquet. 
 
 A purring cat sat on the window-seat behind snowy 
 curtains ; the brass doors of the tile stove shone like 
 pure gold ; a spinning-wheel stood in the corner beside 
 the sofa, adorned with broad ribbons, and the glass cup- 
 board was filled with all kinds of ornaments of a bygone 
 time, chief among which was a Chinaman of Meiss- 
 ner porcelain, which could nod its head for hours at 
 a time. It was enormously valuable, as Aunt Lott 
 assured every one who admired it. She sat by the 
 window reading a psalm ; she wore a black gown and 
 silk apron, for she had truly loved the young woman 
 who had died after such a short life. It had been in 
 this tidy little room that, scarcely a year ago, the girl, 
 weeping and frightened, had laid her hand in her 
 elderly bridegroom's, whom she had met while visiting 
 at the castle, as the large house of the Ratenows' was 
 called. They had played whist together, and he had 
 been vexed when she made a mistake. A week later 
 his sabre clanked over the castle steps ; he had come 
 en grande tenue to woo. He had sat in the state-room 
 down-stairs for two hours, in suspense and anxiety, until 
 Mrs. von Ratenow said, " Wait, Hegebach ; I will bring 
 the little girl to her senses." And she had gone up 
 into Aunt Lett's room, where the girl crouched on a 
 sofa, trembling and weeping, and Aunt Lott vainly
 
 A Poor Girl. 13 
 
 strove to quiet her excited nerves with cologne and 
 lavender, for this wooing had been like lightning from 
 a cloudless sky to her. 
 
 After another hour she was betrothed ; the sonorous 
 voice of the mistress of the house had been audible 
 almost in the lowest story ; at least Moritz, who was 
 also home on a visit, declared that he had heard such 
 exclamations as "suitable match" "pretensions" 
 ' what are you waiting for ? " Into the room, where 
 the mother had fought and struggled, Moritz von 
 Ratenow now carried the little daughter, and, without 
 preparation, laid it in Aunt Lott's lap. 
 
 " There, auntie, is something for the cat to be jeal- 
 ous of." 
 
 " Merciful heaven ! " she screamed, and her eyes 
 wandered from the child through the orderly room, 
 and rested upon the pale, grave face of Mrs. von 
 Ratenow. 
 
 " You have the most time, Lott ; take the child. I 
 have brought her nurse, old Susan, with me; you will 
 not have much care. It could not stay with him, for 
 it does not yet smoke cigars, and, as you know, I can- 
 not have the care of it with all my housekeeping duties." 
 
 The old maid's delicate hands already during this 
 speech had clasped the little bundle. She said noth- 
 ing, she could not, but she nodded so energetically and 
 affirmatively, while her face twitched and she wiped 
 her eyes so vigorously that this could be considered a 
 perfectly satisfactory answer. And so Moritz, at his
 
 14 A Poor Girl. 
 
 mother's suggestion, pushed aside the cupboard which 
 concealed a door, and when this was opened a pleasant 
 little room, with blue chintz hangings, was seen, which 
 had formerly been used for guests, but was now 
 promoted to a nursery. Moritz brought the cradle 
 upstairs, and when it grew dark Aunt Lott sat with her 
 knitting, and near her, young Baron von Ratenow in the 
 light from the night-lamp, beside the swinging cradle, 
 she in a chair and he on a stool, and they spoke in 
 whispers of the dead so eagerly that they did not notice 
 that Mrs. von Ratenow's head appeared in the doorway, 
 and from there she watched the strange pair. The 
 gray cat had sprung up into the cradle and licked its 
 paws. 
 
 " A strange boy ! " murmured the mother, descend- 
 ing the stairs. " A man with the heart of a child his 
 father all over again. Of course, he does not get it 
 from me." And she took the bunch of keys from her 
 girdle with such energy that the girls in the kitchen, 
 who were talking eagerly of the little child brought into 
 the house, hurried to their work, for the mistress would 
 brook no trifling. 
 
 So it grew up, the child, in the old house shaded by 
 lindens, and built of and upon the ruins of a castle 
 which had been burned down by the Swedes in the 
 thirty years' war. A huge thick tower still stood in the 
 garden, a wall and moat still surrounded the building, 
 both of which were blue with violets in the spring. 
 There was an old well, with a sweep, in the garden, a
 
 A Poor Girl. 15 
 
 dungeon, and eerie ghost stories by the hundred. It 
 had long been in the possession of the Ratenows, having 
 fallen to them through a marriage, a Ratenow having long 
 ago wooed and won a Burgsdorf, the last of her race. 
 
 When the child's bright eyes looked out of the win- 
 dow, they gazed over the large yard with the stables 
 and barns to the roofs and towers of the little city ; near 
 the tower of the court-house, under the high peaked 
 slate roof, lived the solitary man. And when the little 
 being, scarce two years old, was asked, "Who lives 
 over there ? " she took her little finger from her mouth 
 and pointed and said with sparkling eyes, " Papa ! " 
 
 Yes, papa ; the papa who scarcely knew his child, 
 who merely paid an occasional visit to the castle from 
 a sense of duty, and looked at the blonde child as 
 gloomily as though some disagreeable letter had been 
 presented to him. And still the child met him with a 
 cry of joy, and reached out longingly for the bright 
 buttons of his uniform. There must be something in 
 the little heart which made it turn unsuspectingly to 
 the quiet, embittered man. 
 
 She was a remarkably pretty child, the darling of the 
 whole house, great friends with Aunt Lott, the gray cat, 
 and big Moritz. Only of Aunt Ratenow was she afraid ; 
 the rosy face became waxen at a reproving glance from 
 this lady's bright eyes. She rushed eagerly to pick up 
 anything that fell to the ground ; but she was not as 
 smilingly ready as with Aunt Lott, although she was no 
 less pleasantly thanked.
 
 1 6 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " She must soon go to school," said Mrs. von Rate- 
 now one day as she sat near the window, and her eyes 
 followed the child, who ran across the yard, her curls 
 flying out behind her, and vanished in the cow-stables, 
 where she was accustomed to drink her evening milk. 
 " She will be five years old in April," and she pushed 
 the spectacles, which she had worn for two years, up on 
 her smooth white forehead, that she might see better. 
 
 " To school ? " asked Moritz, who was at home for 
 his Easter vacation, and was pacing up and down the 
 room, immensely tall and blond in his gray summer suit. 
 A pert little mustache covered his mouth, and his face 
 was as rosy as ever. 
 
 " To school ? " he asked, pausing before his mother. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow stared at him. 
 
 " I know very well, dear mother, that she must learn 
 to read and write, but why not here, in the house ? 
 There are plenty of governesses." 
 
 The work sank into his mother's lap, and her bright 
 eyes had an astonished expression. " Moritz, I do not 
 know what you are thinking of ! Had I daughters of 
 my own I should perhaps I say, perhaps have selected 
 this aristocratic and secluded style of instruction, but 
 the child would be spoiled by it, and more's the pity 
 she will be soon enough." 
 
 " Then is the little thing to trot all that distance to 
 school, in all kinds of wind and weather ? Let her at 
 least drive in winter, mother." 
 
 " Am I a fool, Moritz ? " she replied, calmly. " If
 
 A Poor Girl. 17 
 
 you will guarantee her a carriage later as far as 
 I am concerned. Beginning with April, Elsa goes to 
 school. How far is it ? Down the carriage drive, 
 through the stone gate into the rose alley, and she is 
 there ! " 
 
 " It is for you to decide, mother." 
 
 " Right, my boy. And now let us speak of your 
 plans. Well, then, when you return in the autumn from 
 your trip to Vienna and the Tyrol, we will both reign 
 here together, eh ? " 
 
 He laughed and kissed the hand which she held out 
 to him. 
 
 " I trust you do not yet think of marrying ? " said she, 
 suddenly, and gazed penetratingly at the young man. 
 
 " Yes, mother," he replied, coming closer to her. 
 " I will frankly confess that I have thought of it." 
 
 <% Hear the boy ! Whom have you chosen, then, 
 child ? " 
 
 " An old flame, mother dear ; but do not worry your- 
 self, she is still at boarding-school." 
 
 " Indeed ! At boarding-school ? What will she 
 learn there, Moritz ? She will learn to be pale and 
 fragile, a nervous doll, so that she will never be a 
 healthy wife and mother, and what she forgets there, 
 you have probably not considered. All taste for a 
 quiet family life that will fly out the window. You 
 should not have let her go there, Moritz, if you wish 
 to be happy with her." 
 
 For an instant Moritz looked really abashed. That 
 2
 
 1 8 A Poor Girl. 
 
 his mother took the matter thus, startled and pleased 
 him at the same time. He walked up and down the 
 room several times, his hands behind his back ; Mrs. 
 von Ratenow meanwhile calmly continued knitting her 
 stocking, from time to time gazing out into the yard. 
 This was her manner of passing the time between four 
 and six o'clock in the afternoon for the rest of the 
 day she gave herself little rest. 
 
 " Hegebach intends to resign, Moritz ; did you know 
 it ? " she asked after a while. 
 
 " It is best ; he will never be promoted," replied the 
 son, "he quarrels with all his superior officers." 
 
 " But the small pension ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, he can live on it, mother." 
 
 " He ! He ! but the girl ? " was the impatient re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " Oh, mother ! " 
 
 " Yes, merciful patience, Moritz you speak of mar- 
 rying ! When once you have half a dozen children, 
 how do you think I shall fare ? " She had spoken jest- 
 ingly, and both laughed. 
 
 " You dear little mother," said he, still laughing, and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " No, joking aside," she continued, drawing back. 
 " I take care of Elsa you need not believe that I will 
 half do the thing. She must learn to do something. I 
 think she will be a governess, and I will send her to 
 D as soon as she is ten years old. That is the 
 best, eh, Moritz ? "
 
 A Poor Girl. 19 
 
 At this moment the door opened softly, and a little 
 head peeped into the room, with hair like molten gold ; 
 a pair of large brown eyes looked out from a rosy 
 smiling face, and a sweet, clear, bird-like voice asked, 
 " Moritz, Moritz, will you come into the garden with 
 me ? There is a squirrel in the chestnut-tree." 
 
 " Come here, Elsa ! " cried the young man, and as 
 the child rushed up to him, he picked her up in his 
 arms like a doll, and carried her to his mother. 
 
 " Look at her, mother," he begged, in a strangely soft 
 voice. 
 
 She looked in the pure childish face, and then up at 
 him, questioningly. 
 
 " So, and now run away, Elsa, I will follow you." 
 And the blond giant carefully opened the door to let 
 the little girl out. 
 
 " She is as fresh, healthy and happy as a rose-bud, 
 is she not ? " he asked, returning. " And you will shut 
 her up in a gloomy school-room during the loveliest 
 days of her girlhood, and worry her with severe intel- 
 lectual work ! See, mother, I can never sleep again 
 from thinking of it. What a world of tears and wake- 
 ful nights, of buried hopes and bitter renunciation is 
 contained in the words, ' She must be a governess ! ' 
 Ah, mother, leave her her freedom, do not shut her up, 
 the poor little midget ! " 
 
 " How you can say such a thing, Moritz, I do not 
 understand," replied Mrs. von Ratenow impatiently, 
 paling slightly, "as though I were about to do the
 
 20 A Poor Girl. 
 
 child a great wrong. Do you know, that she possesses 
 nothihg but three hundred dollars of her mother's, and 
 a few trifles ? Hegebach will leave at the most debts, 
 when he closes his eyes, and what then ? Besides, it is 
 not so dreadful, Moritz, and for the present you need 
 not pity your rose-bud. Because you are in love, my 
 dear boy, I will pardon you the comparison. What ? 
 She is surely a rose-bud, too," and with these words 
 she energetically put her knitting in its basket, and left 
 the room. And immediately after her resonant voice 
 rang out from the cellar, " I will show you that it can 
 be done. One can do everything that one chooses ! " 
 
 Late in the evening, Moritz von Ratenow knocked at 
 the door of his mother's bedroom. 
 
 " I thought I heard you ride into the yard," she 
 called from within. " Come in. Where have you 
 been ? " 
 
 He entered, and walked cautiously up to the canopy 
 bed. The full moon shed its light through the arched 
 window and lit up the cosey old room so plainly. 
 
 How long it was since he had been here ! There, 
 over the chest of drawers, hung his father's portrait, 
 and beneath that his own picture taken when a boy. 
 Here stood a cupboard in which his mother kept all 
 her relics, her bridal wreath and his first little cap, his 
 father's spurs and sword, and the last bouquet of wild 
 flowers which he had picked for her the day before his 
 death, and here it was again, the delicate perfume of 
 lavender it suddenly seemed that he was again a little
 
 A Poor Girl. 21 
 
 boy, and came to his mother to confess some foolish 
 act. 
 
 "What do you wish, my boy ? " she asked gently, in 
 her Bremen dialect. " Where were you ? " 
 
 Suddenly he seated himself on the edge of the bed, 
 and seized her hands. " Guess," said he, hesitatingly. 
 " But no, you cannot guess I was at Teesfeld at my 
 future father-in-law's." 
 
 " Oh, you dreadful boy ! " cried Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 
 " It was only about the pension, mother ; I told him 
 that I love Frieda and she loves me, and if Mr. von 
 Teesfeld has no objection, we will marry as " 
 
 " And he has no objection, of course ? " she in- 
 quired with an imperceptible accession of pride. 
 
 " Oh, Heaven forbid, mother ? Well, in a word, 
 Frieda is coming back from the boarding-school." 
 
 " How old is she, Moritz ?" 
 
 " Sixteen and a half ; Mrs, von Teesfeld thought we 
 should wait four years yet." 
 
 " Very sensible, Moritz." 
 
 " Are you satisfied, then, mother ? " he asked, softly. 
 
 " Ah, of what use would it be were I not ? She is 
 the child of good people, Moritz, in suitable circum- 
 stances, and if she is like her father, she will be a good 
 wife." She was silent, as though pondering. " I have 
 been too thoughtless; had I suspected that she would 
 be my daughter-in-law yes, yes," she continued, "it 
 seems to me that your father once told me that Frieda 
 was just such a fly-away as her mother. Yes, I remem-
 
 22 A Poor Girl. 
 
 ber distinctly. Well, listen : if such is the case, hold 
 the reins tightly from the very first; you will have much 
 to teach her." 
 
 He laughed. " She is sweet, mamma, just because 
 she is such a witch. " 
 
 "There is nothing to laugh at, Moritz," said she, 
 reprovingly. " But now go to sleep. I will drive to 
 Teesfeld to-morrow. As your mother, I must do this 
 for your sake, eh ? " And she stroked his luxuriant 
 blonde hair. " Now go to sleep, do not gaze at the 
 moon ; do you hear, Moritz ? " 
 
 And when he had gone, she remained sitting up in 
 bed for a long time, her hands folded. " I am glad that 
 he is so resolute," said she at length, aloud. "When 
 his father courted me all his friends and relatives knew 
 of it, and the very birds sang of it on the roofs. The 
 boy knows what he wants he gets that from me."
 
 II. 
 
 THE door in the old frame house whose windows 
 overlooked the monotonous narrow street was softly 
 opened, and the dainty figure of a little girl of probably 
 ten years hurried in. The child wore a simple gray 
 alpaca frock, a brown straw hat with brown ribbons, 
 from beneath which hung two heavy pale blonde braids. 
 In her hand she carefully held a little basket filled with 
 pears and grapes, and in spite of her thick leather boots, 
 she mounted the steep wooden stairs almost inaudibly, 
 and knocked at the door upstairs. 
 
 " Come in," cried a man's voice, and the next mo- 
 ment Elsa von Hegebach stood in the little room filled 
 with tobacco smoke, before her father. 
 
 He had grown very old, the man, and he looked 
 neglected in his faded dressing-gown which he had 
 adopted since his resignation. He had grown sallow, 
 and the embittered expression of his face had become 
 the predominating one. But the rosy child's face 
 nevertheless leaned with sweet confidence against his 
 cheek.
 
 24 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Papa, how are you ? " she asked, and quickly set- 
 ting the little basket down upon the table, she threw 
 both arms around his neck. 
 
 " Pray do not ask," was the irritable reply. 
 
 A shade fell upon the child's smiling face. " Papa, 
 may I stay with you for a little while ? " she asked, 
 shyly, " or are you going to the club ? " 
 
 " I am going to the club, you know very well, but 
 Susan is down-stairs." 
 
 " Dear papa" the little rosy mouth drooped, but 
 the tears were suppressed bravely " I will go down 
 again at once, but you know I must tell you good-by 
 to-day ; to-morrow I am to go to D ' 
 
 " To-morrow ? " he asked, looking up from the paper, 
 " when do you leave ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Cramm said I must be at her house at seven in 
 the morning. Aunt Ratenow has asked Mrs. Cramm 
 to take me with her. Annie is going to D also, and 
 because Moritz is to be married to-morrow, and they 
 will all be at Teesfeld, and no one can take me 
 
 " Oh yes," he interrupted, impatiently, " it is very 
 sensible so ; the term probably begins day after to-mor- 
 row ? " 
 
 "Yes, papa. Shall I read aloud to you from the 
 paper, papa ? " 
 
 " No, thanks ! Well, a happy journey, Elsa, and be 
 industrious." He held out his hand, and picked up his 
 newspaper again. 
 
 The child stood perfectly motionless, her pale lips
 
 A Poor Girl. 25 
 
 twitched slightly, but no word issued from them, only 
 the sweet eyes gradually became staring. She turned 
 and left the room. 
 
 " Elsa," was called after her; she started, "give 
 those things to Susan I never eat such." And he 
 pointed to the dainty little basket. 
 
 Suddenly she fell on her knees before him, the 
 irritable, unfriendly man. " Papa ! papa ! " she cried 
 shrilly, " why do you not love me a little bit ? Why do 
 you never speak kindly to me as Annie's papa does ? " 
 Her whole little frame quivered in passionate excite- 
 ment ; she leaned her blonde head against his knee and 
 burst into convulsive sobs. 
 
 " Dear heaven, child, pray stand up," cried old 
 Susan, who had come in when the girl began to weep, 
 and she raised the half-resisting child and took her 
 in her arms, glancing severely at the Major. He 
 had sprung up, and now walked excitedly about the 
 room. 
 
 " Who has done anything to you ? " he asked, half 
 anxiously, half vexedly ; "have you been scolded? 
 What is the matter ? Pray tell me ! If you are ill 
 Susan shall take you home and put you to bed." 
 
 " I am not ill," was the low reply. " Good-by, 
 papa." And hastily wiping her eyes, she left the 
 room and went into the one which formerly had been 
 her mother's, and which Susan had occupied since she 
 had kept house for the Major. The child quietly 
 seated herself by the window, and gazed out into the
 
 26 A Poor Girl. 
 
 uncultivated garden ; she had been so sad these last 
 few weeks. 
 
 Then Aunt Ratenow had summoned her to her room 
 one day, and had told her how was it ? 
 
 " Elsa," she had begun, smoothing the child's soft 
 blonde hair, " you are now ten years old, and a sensible 
 child, it is now time to speak with you of all sorts of 
 grave matters. Listen, every one must be of some use 
 in life, if she wishes to be happy, and you wish to be, do 
 you not ? Many people are born, so to say, with a 
 silver spoon in their mouths, and need have no cares in 
 their whole lives, need not ask, ' What shall we eat, what 
 shall we drink, how shall we be clothed ? ' Others, dur- 
 ing their whole lives, must repeatedly ask themselves 
 these questions, and that is not the worst by far, for the 
 Bible says, 'A man's life consisteth not in the abun- 
 dance of things which he possesseth.' Your father, 
 Elsa, is a sickly, lonely man, who has borne much in 
 this life, and he is a poor man he cannot give you a 
 silver spoon. But instead of this, the good God has 
 given you good sense, and a healthy, strong body, and 
 it will be easy for you to answer the questions of which 
 I just spoke, if you have the honest will. I should like 
 to impress it upon you to be very good and diligent, 
 Elsa, so that you will pass your governess's examinations 
 well ; this is almost the only path which a young lady 
 of rank has before her, if she must stand on her own 
 feet in the world." 
 
 It seemed to the child that suddenly a dark veil was
 
 A Poor Girl. 27 
 
 thrown over the modest pleasures of her whole life. 
 The gray-school room appeared before her eyes, with 
 the close atmosphere, the walls which seemed to crush 
 her, the windows through which so seldom a sunbeam 
 fell. And she was to be shut up in this room, she who 
 loved flowers, air and sunlight so greatly ; shut up not 
 only until she were grown no, forever, forever ! But 
 that was impossible ! 
 
 " Well, Elsa, are you not pleased ? " 
 
 She not only shook her head the whole delicate 
 frame quivered with dread. 
 
 " Then remain a little stupid, then you will be like 
 Susan, and one who has learned nothing will be treated 
 like her." 
 
 " But why should I ? " she had cried ; " all the other 
 girls need not ! " And the large fawn-like eyes gazed 
 up into the stately woman's grave face, as if there seek- 
 ing the solution of an incomprehensible riddle. 
 
 " Oh, many must, Elsa, and you among them. It is 
 my duty to educate you so that you can be indepen- 
 dent. Now go ; you know you must be obedient, Elsa, 
 even if you do not now see why." 
 
 Then she had gone to Aunt Lott, pale and with 
 hurried breath. " I am to go away, aunt ! " She could 
 say nothing else then, and her gaze had wandered over 
 the comfortable room, and remained fixed upon the 
 good old face. Then she had seen two tears roll down 
 the wrinkled cheeks upon the cap-strings, and she had 
 been so frightened that she could not cry.
 
 28 A Poor Girl. 
 
 She was to go away for such a very long time, away 
 from her childhood's home, from the shady garden, 
 from Moritz, from all. And yesterday Aunt Lott had 
 packed her trunk with many tears, and she had taken 
 leave of her, of Aunt Ratenow, and of dear, dear Moritz, 
 for they had all gone to Teesfeld yesterday to the wed- 
 ding. Aunt Lott had taken down her gray silk gown 
 from the closet, and had even mounted her Pegasus 
 for the solemn occasion. Elsa knew the poem by heart; 
 it had a decided resemblance to the "Enchanted Rose," 
 and there was a great deal about love, chains of 
 roses, and the magic of love. Oh, it must be so pleasant 
 to go to a wedding. She would have so liked to go, 
 but Aunt Ratenow had not permitted it on account of 
 the journey. " What would you do there, Elsa ? " she 
 had said ; " children are only in the way." 
 
 She had been alone all day, even the cat had gone to 
 take a walk upon the roof. What comfort was it to her 
 that at noon the maid brought her a glass of wine and 
 a piece of cake for dessert ? " From the young master, 
 Elsa ; he impressed it upon me," she had said. But for 
 the first time Elsa felt the pangs of loneliness the hot, 
 deep longing for a heart which belonged wholly to her, 
 to which she had a sacred right. And then she had 
 run to papa. 
 
 Now she sprang up suddenly she could stay no 
 longer in the small, unhomelike room. It smelled of 
 bad coffee, there were grease-spots upon the floor, and 
 on the wall hung the old woman's entire wardrobe ; the
 
 A Poor Ctrl. 
 
 29 
 
 simple mahogany furniture was dulled and the sofa 
 covering moth-eaten and shabby. She ran down the 
 stairs as if chased, hurried through several streets, and 
 then stood in the church-yard, panting for breath, before 
 the ivy-covered mound of the mother she had never 
 known. 
 
 The September day was drawing to a close ; dark 
 clouds had gathered in the west, and the evening breeze 
 cooled the tear-stained childish face. And so she sat 
 there until the sexton's wife chanced to pass her, and 
 called to her pleasantly that she must go now, for the 
 church-yard was to be closed at once. 
 
 She hastily picked a few ivy leaves before she left the 
 grave. And then she stood by the window in Aunt 
 Lott's cheerful room and listened to the singing and
 
 3 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 laughter of the maids and grooms, who celebrated their 
 master's wedding with punch until far into the night. 
 
 When on the following morning the sun slowly 
 broke through the clouds about eight o'clock, it shone 
 upoti a child's pale face, whose large questioning eyes 
 peeped out of the window of a carriage which was roll- 
 ing rapidly along the highway. On the back seat sat 
 a round comfortable looking woman in a black velvet 
 mantle, and a corpulent little man, while between them 
 was their daughter, a snub-nosed child with straw- 
 colored hair. They were taking her to the famous 
 old D institute for a couple of years. Each parent 
 held one little hand, and the mother's eyes showed 
 plainly how bitterly she had wept. Elsa sat alone on 
 the front seat with the luggage, and to the child the un 
 known strange life in which her little feet had to-day 
 taken the first steps looked gloomy and hard.
 
 III. 
 
 EIGHT years had elapsed since that time, and had 
 left their traces on the inhabitants of the little city. 
 
 Major von Hegebach still sat in his ugly sitting-room 
 smoking and reading, old Susan still made her dreadful 
 coffee, but the Major no longer went so regularly to the 
 club ; it was hard for him to walk, he limped. Fatal 
 gout had deprived him of the only diversion which he 
 now possessed, and his temper was not improved there- 
 by. Old Susan had a harder time than ever, but she 
 did not think so, for she had grown stupider, and ex- 
 cept her coffee-pot, scarcely anything in the world in- 
 terested her Elsa, perhaps, excepted. 
 
 Regularly every four weeks had a letter been laid upon 
 the old man's writing-desk, and the handwriting had 
 gradually changed from a childish scrawl to a fine 
 elegant woman's writing, not without character. He 
 had answered but one ; that was when Elsa was con- 
 firmed, and then with the letter had come a garnet 
 necklace, the only ornament which her dead mother 
 had possessed. 
 
 A tender thankful letter had come in reply, with the
 
 32 A Poor Girl. 
 
 childish promise always to be an obedient daughter to 
 her dear papa. And now, to-day, a little note again lay 
 before him. 
 
 MY DEAR, REVERED PAPA : 
 
 You shall be the first to learn that I have passed my examina- 
 tion A. No. i ! The principal just sent for me to tell me. I am 
 so glad and happy, all my pains are forgotten. Now I shall come 
 in a few days, my dear papa, and I shall be glad with all my heart 
 to see you again. Your loving daughter, ELSA. 
 
 He had read the letter again and again, and his face 
 grew more and more grave as he did so. And while he 
 brooded over it, an old woman's two hands up in the 
 castle were busy preparing the room for the child who 
 was to return home. Aunt Lott and Aunt Ratenow 
 had received the same joyous news by the second post, 
 and the first had immediately set about rearranging the 
 young girl's former nursery, for of course she would 
 occupy this room again. 
 
 Down in old Mrs. von Ratenow's sitting-room nothing 
 had changed in the course of years, only she herself 
 had grown somewhat stouter, and her face expressed 
 perhaps more plainly unbending will and quick, ener- 
 getic activity. And yet there was something new here 
 which lent the comfortable room with the soft carpet, 
 the heavy blue hangings, and the shining old bronze 
 ornaments an indescribably home-like, cosey character. 
 Before the chimney, in which a fire flickered, crouched 
 three children playing, a boy and two girls, two blonde
 
 A Poor Girl. 33 
 
 blue-eyed maidens, with the rosy complexion of their 
 father, whom they strikingly resembled, and a dark lit- 
 tle rogue of a boy the youngest. There were noise 
 and laughter here which would have pained the ears of 
 any one but a grandmother. Mrs. von Ratenow, never- 
 theless, seemed not to hear ; she was reading a letter, 
 let it sink, and then read on again. 
 
 " Lulu," cried she, "run and bring papa to me." 
 
 The eldest, a slender girl of five, sprang up and ran 
 quickly out of the room. A little while after a small, 
 indescribably dainty little woman, dressed entirely in 
 elegant black, fairly floated under the blue portieres, 
 and was greeted by the children with loud cries, 
 " Mamma, mamma ! " 
 
 " You dear little things," said she, kissing the chil- 
 dren, and then to Mrs. von Ratenow, with eager curi- 
 osity, " Moritz is coming at once, mamma what is it ? " 
 
 " Is your name Moritz, little curiosity ? " said she, 
 not unpleasantly, but also not very encouragingly. 
 
 But the little creature would not be frightened away; 
 she threw her arms around the old lady's neck with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " Oh, dear mamma, you know that I am frightfully 
 curious; it surely is not a state secret. Please, please, 
 let me stay ! " 
 
 " Will you ever be sensible, Frieda ? Will you al- 
 ways remain a child ? But that is what comes of it, 
 because Moritz spoils you so terribly. " 
 
 She had been made to be indulged, this charming 
 3
 
 34 A Poor Girl. 
 
 little person with the dainty frame, the delicate oval 
 face, and the shining blue-black hair which, arranged 
 simply, displayed the beautiful shape of the head, with 
 the large deep blue eyes under long black lashes. No 
 wonder that "the boy," as his mother called him, was 
 as much in love to-day as in the first days of his mar- 
 ried life. 
 
 " Of course," said he, entering the room, speaking as 
 though vexed, but with sparkling eyes, " here she is to 
 learn what it is all about." 
 
 " I know nothing yet, Moritz." 
 
 " That is certainly very sad, little wife. Hush, you 
 romps," cried he, holding his ears. " Who can speak 
 a word here ? Go down-stairs to Caroline." 
 
 The mother had meanwhile handed her son the letter. 
 
 " Elsa has passed her examinations and is coming 
 Thursday," she remarked. 
 
 " Ah, really ! " cried the stately man, pleased. " Well, 
 thank goodness, she will be glad to be able to turn her 
 back on the school-room." 
 
 " I merely wished to ask you, Moritz, what is to be- 
 come of her now ? " 
 
 His honest kind eyes gazed at her in astonishment. 
 " Nothing at all for the present, mamma. I think the 
 poor thing must have a rest first ; she will need some 
 recreation." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow nodded. " Very good. But you 
 make her return to her father's house so much the 
 harder."
 
 A Poor Girl. 35 
 
 " Yes, Moritz, you will only spoil her by that," cried 
 the young wife in assent. 
 
 " Mercy ! The poor child ! Why should she have 
 anything to do with the old polar bear?" came from 
 the man's lips, compassionately. 
 
 " It is her duty to tend her old father ; the man fairly 
 starves, Moritz ; Susan grows older and diftier every 
 day." 
 
 " Yes, you are right, mother," he interrupted her, 
 "but not just yet; we have time enough to consider 
 that. The house down there must at least be so re- 
 paired that it is a fit home for human beings. Had I 
 suspected it I should have attended to it long ago, but 
 I will not take the girl there as it is now. The first two 
 weeks she will spend here ; do not attempt to dissuade 
 me." 
 
 " Here we are again on the same spot," said the old 
 lady. 
 
 "And on the right one, mother." 
 
 A short pause ensued, during which only the click of 
 the knitting-needles was heard. 
 
 " It is two years ago to-day since the accident 
 happened to the Bennewitzer's two sons," began the 
 young man at length. " It is fearful to lose two chil- 
 dren at once." 
 
 " Heavens, yes, it is horrible," chimed in the young 
 wife. " I do not understand even to-day how it could 
 happen." 
 
 " Very simply, Frieda. The two boys had gone out
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 sailing alone on the Elbe, and a sudden gust of wind 
 must have capsized the boat ; the corpses were not 
 found until the following day." 
 
 " Yes, that is hard," remarked Mrs. von Ratenow, 
 and involuntarily dried her forehead with her hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 " It is also just four years ago that his wife died ! " 
 
 Suddenly she let her hands fall in her lap and stared 
 thoughtfully before her. At length she said with a deep 
 blush, " Could not Elsa the man is wealthy and quite 
 alone " 
 
 " Indeed I have thought of that," replied Moritz. 
 " Meanwhile, as daughters are expressly excluded from 
 inheriting, according to the will of the deceased uncle, 
 and the Bennewitzer is not at all an old man, one can 
 scarcely doubt that he will marry again, and " 
 
 "'The bread falls out of the beggar's pocket again 
 and again,' is an old proverb, my boy," Mrs. von Rate-
 
 A Poor Girl. 37 
 
 now interrupted him, having fully recovered her self- 
 possession, " but I must invite him here, Moritz I 
 found his card recently." 
 
 " Do you know the Bennewitzer Hezebach well, 
 mamma ? " asked the young wife. " I have never 
 troubled myself about him, but my sister Lili raves 
 over him," she continued ; " he is a stately man, and 
 certainly does not resemble his cousin. I know noth- 
 ing further." 
 
 But Mrs. von Ratenow made no reply. 
 
 " Moritz," she asked, " how are the roads ? " 
 
 "Good and firm, mother the rain scarcely laid the 
 dust." 
 
 " Then pray excuse me, I have a visit to pay." She 
 had risen, and nodding pleasantly to the young couple, 
 went into her adjoining bedroom. 
 
 " Where are you going, mother ? " asked Moritz. 
 
 " Mamma, in a quarter of an hour I am going to Mrs. 
 von Kayser's," cried the young lady through the crack 
 of the door, " if you can wait that long." 
 
 " Thanks, child, I am going," was the answer. But 
 they received no answer to the question, " Where are 
 you going ? " 
 
 It was quite dark when Mrs. von Ratenow returned, 
 and going directly upstairs, knocked at Aunt Lett's 
 door and immediately after entered the room. Aunt 
 Lott sat at the window and looked out at the autumn 
 garden. She had laid away book and knitting, the twi- 
 light had so deepened.
 
 38 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " No, Lott, it is incredible," cried Mrs. von Rate- 
 now, and seated herself, out of breath, on the nearest 
 chair. 
 
 Aunt Lott was frightened, her cousin so seldom lost 
 her reserved calm manner. 
 
 " Dear Ratenow ! For God's sake what has hap- 
 pened ? " asked she, leaving the window. 
 
 " No, Lott, I have come to you because I cannot 
 speak with Moritz about it. What has happened ? 
 Well, you know Elsa comes to-morrow. Moritz and 
 I hold different views concerning her future position. 
 I said she must go to her father, he said that was 
 horrible, she should come here " 
 
 " And Frieda ? " Aunt Lott ventured to interrupt. 
 
 "Frieda? Frieda has nothing to do with it," was 
 the reply in a very contemptuous tone ; " she says one 
 thing this time, another thing another time, just as suits 
 her, but she has no judgment, never had any. If she 
 wished to have private theatricals and needed some one 
 for a role for which Elsa was adapted, she would say, 
 ' Ah, mamma, do not let her go to her surly old father;' 
 and if there chanced to be thirteen at table, she would 
 probably have declared, 'Oh, yes, mamma, the child 
 belongs to her father ' merely on account of the omi- 
 nous number." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow paused for a moment. 
 
 "Well, in short," she continued, while she hastily un- 
 fastened her heavy silk mantle, " I dressed and went 
 to see Hegebach. I hoped that he would wish to have
 
 A Poor Girl. 39 
 
 the child in his house, so that his old days might be a 
 trifle cheered. And what do you think, Lott ? " she 
 cried, with raised voice, and let her hand fall heavily 
 upon the top of the table. " He does not want her ! 
 Have you ever read in any of your stupid novels of a 
 father who did not wish to receive his only child into 
 his house ? He grew fairly violent at last, he trembled 
 in every limb, spoke of the hundred claims of a young 
 girl, and that he had but one rest, rest, rest ! " 
 
 " But dear Ratenow, you excite yourself more than 
 necessary," cried Aunt Lott, trying to sooth her. " He 
 has always been so." 
 
 " But the man should not grow angry," continued 
 the irritated woman. " He showed me very plainly 
 that he had no use for such an article of luxury as a 
 grown daughter. He had scarcely what he needed for 
 himself, he had payments to make each month on his 
 old lieutenant debts who would undertake that after 
 his death ? He could do no more than what he 
 had done when he gave the three hundred dollars 
 which Lisa had brought him for her education. Elsa 
 might now make use of what she had learned, and 
 so on." 
 
 " The poor girl ! The poor girl ! " said Aunt Lott, 
 and drew her handkerchief across her eyes. 
 
 " But I talked to him, Lott," continued the excited 
 lady, " and you know that my words are not honeyed." 
 
 Aunt Lott was silent, she knew that only too well. 
 
 " He became quiet and pale at last, but of what use
 
 40 A Poor Girl. 
 
 was it ? I meant well with him one can force no one 
 to be happy " 
 
 " And now, dear Ratenow ? " 
 
 " Well, now Moritz will have his way," was the 
 grumbling answer. 
 
 " Ah, let it be, cousin," said Aunt Lott kindly, whose 
 heart secretly rejoiced that her darling was to return, 
 " let it be who knows what will happen, see 
 
 " I know very well, Lott," Mrs. von Ratenow inter- 
 rupted her ; " it will be a life of pure gayety, a spoiling in 
 all earnest, as is now, alas, the fashion with us, and she 
 must work some day, for the ' must ' will come, you 
 may depend upon it, and perhaps at no distant time. 
 But then she will have forgotten to accommodate herself 
 and submit to others." 
 
 "Oh, that is in God's hands, dear. She may marry." 
 
 " Will you assure her a dowry, Charlotte ? " she 
 asked, mockingly ; " then do not make it too small." 
 
 " Oh, this prose ! " groaned Aunt Lott, insulted. 
 
 "You will not bake a single roll with your poesy, nor 
 once cover the table. Every one has a stomach, my 
 dear, and even in the tenderest love passages one gets 
 hungry ; that our young men of to-day know very well, 
 and they know, in addition, that caviare tastes better 
 than barley broth." 
 
 Aunt Lott did not utter, a syllable in reply to this 
 bitterly realistic declaration. After a while of deepest 
 silence, she began again, shyly : 
 
 " Ratenow, I have an idea if you no, if Moritz
 
 A Poor Girl, 41 
 
 Frieda said the other day that she must soon have 
 a governess. If Elsa should try her hand with the 
 children, she would then have a serious occupation, 
 and " 
 
 She paused anxiously and tried to see the features of 
 the woman sitting opposite her, in the deep twilight. 
 
 " That is perhaps that would do, Lott," said Mrs. 
 Ratenow, and rose. " That really is not a bad idea, 
 Lott I will speak to Moritz at once." 
 
 She picked up her mantle and hung it over her arm. 
 
 " I will tell you, Lottie," she said, turning at the door, 
 " I am very anxious to keep the child near me, and she 
 will not be exactly a governess but do not let her no- 
 tice it. Good evening, Lott ! " 
 
 And then the door closed, and the firm tread echoed 
 from the corridor, and Aunt Lott stood in the middle of 
 the quiet little room, shaking her head. Oh, this world 
 becomes more and more'prosaic !
 
 IV. 
 
 A DREARY, disagreeable Octobei day was drawing to 
 a close. The locomotive, a long train of cars behind 
 it, rushed through the heavy gray fog, its red eyes 
 glowing, and blew mighty clouds of smoke into the 
 white sea of vapor, and now fog and smoke whirled 
 and curled in wild, fantastic forms, they clung to the 
 branches of the trees, ever giving place to new ones, 
 incessantly rushing madly on. 
 
 At the window of the ladies' carriage stood a young 
 girl, so tall and slender that the ribbon of her round 
 straw hat was almost as high as the lower sash of the 
 window. She was the only occupant of the coupe" this 
 cold, wet autumn evening, but her young face expressed 
 no sense of cold and loneliness, her cheeks glowed in 
 happy expectation, the brown fawn-like eyes shone, her 
 full little mouth wore a half smile, or remained open for 
 a moment, as if in expectation of something wonderful, 
 which lent the face a sweet childlike expression. She 
 walked from one window to another, but she could see 
 nothing but smoke, and the train went unbearably 
 slowly she thought. Probably for the twelfth time she 
 picked up her travelling bag and laid it down again.
 
 A Poor Girl. 43 
 
 How astonished they all would be ! Moritz expected 
 her at ten o'clock, and now it was only seven. 
 
 Her heart beat to bursting when the locomotive gave 
 a long shrill whistle, and now a few lights rushed past 
 the windows. How long it was since she had been 
 here ! For the last year and a half it had never been 
 convenient for her to pass her holidays at the castle 
 once they were all away, then the children had the 
 measles. 
 
 Ah, and there lay the railway station ! Elsa raised 
 the window and leaned far out into the cold, damp 
 autumn air. There stood the fountain, there stood the 
 old one-eyed porter, and down there, across the fields, 
 the lights of the little city shone through the mist and 
 fog. Ah, how delightful it is to come home again ! 
 
 " Where to, Miss ? " asked the porter. 
 
 " Oh, let it stay ; it will be sent for to-morrow from 
 the castle," said she hastily, " I have come sooner " 
 
 " Will you go alone ? " The man was desperate at 
 thought of earning nothing. 
 
 Elsa remembered that Aunt Ratenow had always 
 thought it unsuitable for ladies alone. " You may 
 carry my bag, but quickly, please." And she hurried 
 on ahead, along the well-known sparsely built-up road, 
 to the city gate, and only here did her panting com- 
 panion overtake her. There it stood, the old court- 
 house ; there they were, the tall crooked houses, and 
 the lanterns still hung on chains across the streets, the 
 knockers still rattled on the house-doors, and the shops
 
 44 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 where Moritz had sometimes bought her candy had the 
 same darky boy figures behind their windows, as a 
 sign that genuine tobacco was for sale here. 
 
 At length she stood still and gazed up at a pair of 
 dimly-lighted windows ; involuntarily she turned to
 
 A Poor Girl. 45 
 
 the door to hurry to papa. But Moritz had expressly 
 written that he and Aunt Ratenovv wished to speak 
 with her first no, she must be obedient, and slowly 
 she turned. 
 
 " You have gone far out of your way, Miss," grum- 
 bled her companion. " You surely do not know the 
 right direction." 
 
 She merely nodded with a smile and walked on 
 hastily through the stone gate into the linden alley. 
 She knew every one of the gnarled trunks, which rose 
 like black forms in the darkness ; she remembered 
 the lantern down there and the barking of the dogs 
 in the castle yard which she now heard. She stood 
 at the turn of the road. There it lay before her, the 
 dear old house ; up there were Aunt Lett's windows 
 they were bright and below those in Aunt Ratenow's 
 room ; the lights burned over the house door, and 
 behind the kitchen windows figures were moving, and 
 the large carriage was being brought out of the barn. 
 
 " You can go," she whispered to the man, taking the 
 bag and pressing some money into his hand. She ran 
 across the yard, rushed up the steps, and now stood in 
 the vestibule. 
 
 Where should she go first ? But she hesitated for a 
 moment only, then turned to the stairs and mounted to 
 the neat little room. It was her dearest, best home. 
 " Aunt Lott ! " she cried, upon the threshold. It rang 
 through the strange old lady's quiet room. 
 
 " Elsa ! my darling child ! " was the reply. Yes, she
 
 46 A Poor Girl. 
 
 was home again. Here she was expected. Ah, it is 
 too lovely to come home, to come home from among 
 strangers ! 
 
 " Merciful patience ! I scarcely recognized you, Elsa, 
 only your eyes are the same ! " cried Aunt Lott, after 
 she had released the girl from her arms. 
 
 " Darling auntie, I have grown, have I not ? But I 
 am eighteen years old." 
 
 " Come, come, take off your jacket, so and here, 
 do you see, tea is just ready. To be sure, eighteen 
 years old, my child ? I have told you in the poem for 
 your birthday what that means for us." And Aunt 
 Lott stood with the teapot, in her hand, before the 
 smiling rosy girl, and declaimed : 
 
 " Eighteen years old ! spring's magic charm 
 
 Is thine for these brief days, 
 Half unclosing fairest rosebuds 
 Kissed by the sun's warm rays." 
 
 "Oh, auntie, and I so love life ! " the girl interrupted 
 the old lady. " When I sat over my books, and my 
 head was so heavy that it seemed as if I could cram 
 nothing more into it, then I thought of all the happi- 
 ness which must come to every one, of the youth which 
 lay before me. Sister Beata always told us that Heaven 
 grants a share of happiness to each one. Ah, aunt, 
 how I look forward to my share ! I could scarcely wait 
 to leave the school-room." 
 
 Aunt Lott hastily poured tea ; she was suddenly in the 
 midst of a dream of spring and the song of nightingales,
 
 A Poor Girl. 47 
 
 she also had once been young, and there sat the em- 
 bodiment of spring in her little room. How pretty Elsa 
 had grown ; the young face gazing out into life was fresh 
 as the dew ; how many, many hopes were hidden behind 
 the smooth white forehead, and brightened the eyes and 
 made glad the heart ! 
 
 " O youth ! " whispered the old lady. 
 
 " Eighteen years old ! The poorest life 
 
 Yet has its pleasures bright, 
 
 Filling the future's gloomy vales 
 
 With golden, glad sunlight." 
 
 And there she sat, now, the girl. She had worked 
 hard for years, she had no home, no loving mother, no 
 prospects for the future, and still youth, which looks 
 upon it as its right to be' happy, to demand happiness, 
 raised her to a true heaven, and how long would it 
 last before Aunt Ratenow would come with her garden 
 shears, and in her horribly realistic manner, cut off one 
 bud of hope after another ? Aunt Lott turned away to 
 set the tea-pot on the stove, so that she could become 
 mistress of her grief. 
 
 " But, auntie, how are you all here ? " cried Elsa, 
 quickly drinking her tea. " I must go down-stairs to 
 Aunt Ratenow, Moritz, and Frieda." 
 
 " Yes, that you must, child, yes, yes," said the old 
 woman. " To be sure you will not see much of Frieda ; 
 they are having a rehearsal, they wish to play some piece 
 for Aunt Ratenow's birthday, but Moritz will probably 
 have a few minutes to spare."
 
 48 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Rehearsal ! Who ? " 
 
 " Who ? Child, the officers and young ladies from 
 the city, and then they are all to have supper here 
 day before yesterday they even had a dance. Mercy ! 
 Elsa, I hear your aunt's step, and now you did not go 
 to see her first." 
 
 " No, that is Moritz ! " cried Elsa, and in a moment 
 she was behind the stove, and drew her gown tightly 
 around her slender form. 
 
 Yes, it was Moritz ; he merely wished to ask whether 
 Aunt Lott would drive to the station for the child. 
 Frieda again had the whole town down-stairs to supper. 
 With these words he sank down upon the nearest chair, 
 and pushed his hair back from his forehead, a gesture 
 which was frequent with him when he wished to drive 
 away unpleasant thoughts. 
 
 Then suddenly two trembling little hands were laid 
 over his eyes. " Uncle Moritz, who am I? " asked a dear, 
 well-known voice, and a clear, merry laugh followed. 
 
 "You witch!" he cried, and held her fast. And now 
 he sprang up. " Girl, you have become a fine creat- 
 ure!" His good face fairly shone. "The food in 
 
 D cannot be very poor, in truth, and you do not 
 
 look learned either, thank God ! " 
 
 " No, Moritz, I have no tendency that way. Imagine, 
 the Professor assured me only yesterday that such was 
 the case," said she, meekly. " But the examination went 
 finely," she added, consolingly, as he watched her, smil- 
 ingly.
 
 A Poor Girl. 49 
 
 He still stared at her. " Aunt Lott, I am growing 
 old. I have often carried that tall young lady, and 
 now ? " 
 
 " Yes," cried Aunt Lott. " When I saw her thus 
 before me so suddenly, I thought of Schiller's words : 
 
 "'And gracefully, in beauty's pride, like to some heavenly 
 image fair.'" 
 
 " That is right, Lott," a voice interrupted her. " Put 
 ideas in her head at once." Aunt Ratenow stood in 
 the doorway as if conjured there by magic, and behind 
 her Frieda's face peeped in, wreathed in smiles. 
 
 "We wished to see if it were true," she cried. 
 
 " Caroline declared that she heard Elsa talking up 
 here ; truly, there she is." 
 
 Elsa had just emerged from Aunt Ratenow's double 
 shawl, which the old lady was accustomed to wrap 
 around her when passing through the cold corridors. 
 Now she was kissed warmly by the younger lady. 
 " Moritz, she comes as if sent for. I have just received 
 
 a note from Mrs. von D ; she cannot take part, 
 
 there has been a death in the family. Now we are pro- 
 vided for." 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Mrs. von Ratenow, sharply. 
 
 " I have no time, dear mamma. I must go down- 
 stairs, and you must not ask me now, either," cried 
 Frieda. " Moritz, bring Elsa down afterwards." And 
 in the next moment the dainty young woman in the 
 heavy, pale blue silk gown had vanished behind the door. 
 
 " Well, child," Aunt Ratenow turned to the young 
 4
 
 50 A Poor Girl. 
 
 girl, " we have decided that, for the present, you are to 
 remain here." 
 
 " Oh, how gladly if papa will permit," was the frank 
 reply, " but then, aunt ' 
 
 "Yes, he permits" the old lady interrupted. It 
 sounded strangely. Aunt Lott and Moritz exchanged 
 glances. 
 
 " And so that you " she continued. 
 
 " We will speak of the rest to-morrow," Moritz inter- 
 rupted. " Dear mother," he pleaded, " do us the pleas- 
 ure to take supper with us this evening. Frieda would 
 be very happy." 
 
 " You know, Moritz, that I cannot bear much talk- 
 ing," she replied. 
 
 "Dear heaven, it would be much pleasanter could 
 we be alone together but ah, pray do ; Aunt Lott 
 and Elsa, get ready. Mother and Aunt Lott can excuse 
 themselves soon after supper. Mother will really be 
 needed." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow shook her head. 
 
 " My old birthday now furnishes an excuse for your 
 foolery," said she ; " come and fetch me when the 
 time comes, Moritz." 
 
 " Aunt Lott," began Elsa, after she had completed 
 her toilet, and was fastening a pale pink sash to her 
 plain black cashmere gown, which was so becoming 
 to her clear complexion and blonde hair, " things are 
 so queer here ; Aunt Ratenow was out of temper, and 
 Moritz ako."
 
 A Poor Girl. 51 
 
 " Yes, but I do not know why," was the evasive 
 reply. " Are you ready ? It is high time." 
 
 Elsa was ready, and together they crossed the cor- 
 ridor and descended the stairs. 
 
 "Oh, Elsa, my handkerchief," cried Aunt Lott, as 
 they were about to enter the drawing-room. She 
 always forgot something. 
 
 "Go in, auntie, I will fetch it," said the young girl. 
 
 She came down-stairs again after a few minutes and 
 paused irresolutely. Not far from her she perceived 
 an officer ; he had just removed hat and overcoat. Now 
 he picked up a violin-case and turned to enter the 
 hall leading to Frieda's rooms. At this moment he 
 glanced up, and the two young people looked into each 
 other's eyes. 
 
 Then what is usual when a lady and gentleman meet 
 occurred : he made a deep bow, his spurs clicked, 
 he opened the door, and let the young girl pass 
 ahead. 
 
 The hall was but dimly lighted, but in crossing it 
 Elsa had time to admire the handsome furniture which 
 had been recently added to the large gloomy room. It 
 had become the exact copy of an old German state 
 apartment, with its dark oaken wainscoting, the magnifi- 
 cent carved oak furniture, the costly hangings, which 
 fell in artistic folds to the ground. Here and there the 
 light was reflected from handsome bronze ornaments, 
 and the palms in the superb vases stirred gently as her 
 feet trod the soft carpet.
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Frieda's drawing-room was brilliantly lighted, and 
 gay chat and laughter rang out from it. When the
 
 A Poor Girl. 53 
 
 young girl appeared in the doorway the conversation 
 ceased for a moment, introductions followed, and Elsa 
 stood in the midst of the close, perfumed atmosphere of 
 the drawing-room. She took refuge behind Aunt Lott, 
 where there was a vacant chair, and from here she 
 surveyed this gay scene, so wholly unfamiliar to her 
 large childish eyes. How they chatted, laughed and 
 joked, discussed the news of the day and of the little 
 circle, promotion, and a bit of the chronique scandaleuse, 
 interrupted by an occasional emphatic remark from 
 Aunt Ratenow. There was an assemblage of dazzling 
 uniforms, of ladies' handsome though simple costumes ; 
 and suddenly it flew from mouth to mouth, " Bernardi 
 will play ! " 
 
 The officer who had entered with Elsa took a violin 
 from its case, and spoke eagerly to Frieda, then she 
 seated herself at the piano, turning back the fine lace 
 at her wrists, and struck a few chords, while death-like 
 stillness prevailed in the room. 
 
 " Bernardi is to play. Elsa, you have a treat in 
 store," Aunt Lott whispered to the girl ; " he plays 
 wonderfully." And the next moment from beneath the 
 bow, guided over the strings by the man's slender hand 
 yonder, a tone wonderfully soft and sweet vibrated 
 through the room ; tone succeeded tone, now mourn- 
 ful and longing, as though the little brown violin wept, 
 now in brilliant staccato, in wild fiery rhythm. And 
 then he lowered his bow. 
 
 Elsa started ; she felt as though awakened from
 
 54 A Poor Girl. 
 
 a dream. Loud applause followed, Aunt Ratenow 
 applauding loudest of all. 
 
 " Dear Bernardi," she cried, " I, indeed, understand 
 nothing of modern music. Your father moved me to 
 tears when he played Beethoven's ' Adelaide ' upon the 
 same violin ; but I must, nevertheless, give the palm to 
 his son." And she held out her right hand to the young 
 man, cordially, who took it with a deep bow. Then he 
 whispered to Frieda, and in the next moment, making a 
 second bow to the old lady, he raised his bow and 
 Beethoven's ' Adelaide ' echoed through the room. 
 
 ' ' Plainly gleameth on every crimson petal Adelaide, 
 Adelaide ! ' " Aunt Lott whispered with shining eyes. 
 "Oh, what a pity, over so soon ! Oh, dear Lieutenant 
 Bernardi, how beautiful ! " she heard Elsa say then, 
 and when she looked up he stood before her aunt, but 
 his eyes gazed over the blonde lace cap at the girl ; they 
 were dark, almost mournful eyes, which gave a peculiar 
 look to the face with its regular features and bold, 
 dark mustache. His comrades declared that he was 
 descended from gypsies, and for this reason he could 
 " fiddle " so brilliantly. 
 
 " Is Miss von Hegebach also musical ? " he now 
 asked, as carelessly as possible, and drew his chair 
 between Elsa and Aunt Lott. 
 
 " I sing a little," she replied, and with that conver- 
 sation was started. Aunt Lott merely went through the 
 formality of interposing an occasional word ; she knew 
 nothing at all of music, but was secretly astonished at
 
 A Poor GirL 55 
 
 this little Elsa's knowledge, she talked so learnedly of 
 thorough-bass, Chopin, and Wagner. 
 
 She sat beside him at table, she did not realize how 
 quickly the hours flew. She saw neither Moritz's smile 
 nor Aunt Ratenow's stern glances. " One can take the 
 girls of the present day from the nursery and seat them 
 at table, and they will have something to talk about," 
 said the old lady to herself. Then she rose and gave 
 the signal for leaving the table. When Elsa kissed her 
 hand and wished her gesegnete mahlzeit she held the 
 young girl fast by the arm. 
 
 " You will take me to my room, eh, child ? " and 
 without awaiting Frieda's return she was occupied in 
 the adjoining room she took " French leave " and left 
 the room unnoticed by Moritz. 
 
 " So, Elsa," said she, when they had entered her 
 comfortable room, " how these young women can chat- 
 ter. Your tongue was not exactly tied. Did you amuse 
 yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! " The young girl became crimson. 
 
 " The best was Bernardi's playing," said Mrs. von 
 Ratenow, without noticing the blush. " Ring for the 
 maid, Elsa ; she may bring me fresh water, and then 
 you may go. Go to bed, child ; we must have a talk 
 together to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Elsa, where are you ? " cried Frieda's voice outside. 
 
 " Oh, well ; do as you please," murmured the old 
 lady. And when Frieda entered the room the next 
 moment, she hastily motioned to Elsa to go.
 
 56 A Poor Girl. 
 
 "I do believe that mamma wished to send you to 
 bed, like a little child," said the young wife, outside. 
 " Come quickly ; you must read your part to-night ; 
 afterwards we will dance." 
 
 J
 
 A Poor Girl. 57 
 
 It was long past midnight when Elsa mounted the 
 stairs. She gazed over the carved bannisters down into 
 the hall, where the guests stood wrapped in cloaks and 
 mantles, ready to leave. There stood Bernardi among 
 them and glanced up and bowed. " Good-night," she 
 cried, like a happy child. Then she sat on Aunt 
 Lett's bed for a long time, and told her of school, of 
 Sister Beata, and everything under the sun ; they even 
 spoke of the dead cat. It mattered not to her what 
 she talked about, for as to sleep that was not to be 
 thought of for this night.
 
 V. 
 
 THE next morning the rain fell in torrents, the roofs 
 dripped, the eaves-troughs gurgled and murmured, and 
 the half-stripped branches of the trees bent and 
 groaned in the cold autumn wind. This chilly mood 
 seemed to affect human beings also ; in the whole house 
 only Aunt Lott and her little adopted daughter seemed 
 good-tempered. " Now, auntie, you must have an easy 
 time," the latter had said, and when the old lady 
 entered her room she found all her little tasks finished, 
 the dust removed, the flowers watered, the wants of the 
 little canary in its cage attended to, and Elsa, in her 
 simple gown, sat by the window and gazed out at the 
 rainy landscape. 
 
 " I do so like this weather," she began, as they were 
 drinking their coffee, " for then it is so nice in the 
 house, but still it is unfortunate that it rains. I must 
 go to papa. Aunt Lott, my conscience pricks me for 
 enjoying myself so much yesterday evening, instead of 
 being with him." 
 
 She had scarcely spoken when there was a knock, 
 and Moritz .entered. He wore a thick frieze overcoat 
 and high boots.
 
 A Poor Girl. 59 
 
 "Ah, Moritz, you have your headache face on," 
 cried Elsa. 
 
 " I came to ask Elsa if she will go to the city with 
 me. I have business at the city hall," he answered. 
 
 She was ready at once, and went for her cloak and 
 hat. Moritz looked after her. 
 
 "She has grown to be a sweet, pretty girl, Aunt Lott," 
 said he, as the door closed behind her. 
 
 The old lady eagerly nodded assent. " But how are 
 matters down-stairs, Moritz ? " 
 
 " Well, as one looks upon it ! Frieda is unhappy ; 
 she has received news of the death of her father's 
 brother. She never knew him, she says, but the family 
 will of course wear mourning, especially as the old 
 gentleman was unmarried and leaves his whole fortune 
 to my father-in-law. Frieda wishes to go to the city 
 with me to make some purchases." 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said Aunt Lott, " and the theatricals ? " 
 
 " They are at an end, thank fortune," said he, smiling 
 in spite of his headache. " Well, well, Elsa, you need 
 not hurry so," he remarked to the young girl, as she 
 reappeared. " Frieda is not nearly ready, but you can 
 say good-morning to mother, meanwhile." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow sat at the window, sorting a huge 
 pile of stockings, while she drew each one over her 
 hand, gazing sharply at it through her spectacles. 
 
 ''It is sweet and dutiful in you, Elsa," she said in 
 the course of conversation, and more gently than she 
 usually spoke. "But see, old gentlemen have their
 
 60 A Poor Girl. 
 
 peculiarities ; you must not think that your father does 
 not love you because he says that he is willing for you 
 to stay with us. It may seem harsh and unkind to you 
 and others also ; but the reasons you must look for in 
 his hard life, in the seclusion in which he has always 
 insisted upon living, wholly without pleasures. Perhaps 
 in time he will become more sociable." 
 
 Who would have recognized by these words the 
 harsh, decided woman, who to-day tried to hold up 
 the father's conduct in the mildest light to the child ? 
 " Greet your father for me," she called after her, as 
 the young girl turned to go. 
 
 Frieda was evidently in the worst possible humor. 
 She lay back in the carriage, wrapped closely in her soft 
 fur cloak, and did not utter a word. At length she 
 took out a dainty little purse and shook out the con- 
 tents into her fine lawn handkerchief. 
 
 " It is not nearly enough, Moritz," said she then, 
 playing with the coins. " You must pay Drewendt's 
 bill yourself. I will have it made out to-day." 
 
 Without further remark, he drew out his pocket-book 
 and silently handed her several bank-notes. She took 
 them, put them into her purse with the other money, 
 and then put it in her pocket. 
 
 " Moritz, may I buy the little etagere for my drawing- 
 room ? " she asked, gazing pleadingly at him with her 
 blue eyes. 
 
 He turned toward her vexedly, but his irritated ex- 
 pression vanished when he gazed at the beautiful face
 
 A Poor Girl. 61 
 
 which smiled at him so seductively from beneath the 
 black fur cap. 
 
 " How fond you are of such rubbish," he said. 
 " As you like, but we will soon be forced to hold an 
 auction, you have so many things, eh? But how much 
 does the thing cost ? " 
 
 " Oh, not very much ; a hundred marks, perhaps, 
 Moritz." 
 
 He was silent, and Elsa did not know what to say, 
 then the carriage stopped before the Major's house, and 
 she got out. She crossed the bare hall, ascended the 
 slanting stairs, stood irresolutely at the door of her 
 father's room, and then entered the little kitchen. 
 
 Old Susan had just placed a couple of wine-glasses 
 on a tray, and her trembling hands were trying to un- 
 cork a bottle of Rhine wine. 
 
 " Give it here, Susan," said the girl smiling ; " I am 
 stronger than you." 
 
 " Merciful heavens ! " cried the old woman, joyfully. 
 " Dear Elsa ! Miss Elsa ! And you have grown to be 
 such a big girl ! And I knew it would be so ! We 
 have not had a guest for ten years, and to-day they 
 come from all directions." 
 
 Elsa placed the bottle of Rhine wine on the tray. 
 " Call me Elsa, as you used to, Susan ; but who is with 
 papa ? I do not want to disturb him." 
 
 "You must guess," cried the old woman, smiling, 
 and tied on a fresh apron. " Now you are curious, 
 Elsa, I see that, just as your mother was ; well " and
 
 62 A Poor Girl. 
 
 she came close up to the girl " it is the Bennewitzer ! 
 I did not recognize him at all," she continued. " Here 
 came a fine gentleman in black clothes, and asked for 
 the Major, his cousin. Had I told your papa first, he 
 surely would not have received him, but I did not, but 
 opened the door at once, and there they sat together in 
 a moment. Well, let them wrangle, Elsa dear, I think 
 it will do no harm. Do you know, until now the two 
 have fought like cat and dog about the inheritance. 
 And now but will you not carry the wine in, Elsa ? " 
 
 " Did papa call for wine ? " asked the young girl. 
 
 " Oh, what are you thinking of ? " replied the old 
 woman, shrugging her shoulders. " I only thought 
 that when a relative came to call one should treat him 
 properly." 
 
 At this moment the Major's voice rang out so loudly 
 and angrily that Susan, who was about to hand the 
 girl the tray, set it down again in alarm. 
 
 " Oh, heavens, Elsa, he is angry," she stammered, 
 and in fact exclamations of a man excited to the great- 
 est fury now rang in the ear of the trembling girl. 
 The next moment she had hurried across the corridor, 
 opened a door and stood on the threshold of the room, 
 deathly pale, but with an expression of the utmost self- 
 possession. 
 
 " Papa, I trust I do not disturb you ? " asked she, 
 advancing toward the old man, who, standing in the 
 middle of the room, a letter in his hand, his face deeply 
 flushed, stared at her as at an apparition.
 
 A Poor Girl. 63 
 
 The stately man who leaned carelessly against the 
 window yonder bore not the slightest resemblance to his 
 excited, angry cousin ; he was a gentleman in appear- 
 ance from head to foot, and he seemed also to have 
 preserved perfectly his inner calm; his face, at least, 
 with the sad expression about the mouth, was com- 
 pletely unmoved. 
 
 " You do not disturb us at all, Miss von Hegebach," 
 said he, with a bow, " in fact it is a welcome interrup- 
 tion. I was just trying to explain a misunderstanding 
 on your father's part, and this was made difficult for 
 me by new misunderstandings " 
 
 " Papa ! " the lovely young girl had clasped the gray 
 old man in her two arms. " Dear papa, I am so glad 
 to be with you again," and she leaned against him as 
 though she would protect him from all harm in this 
 world. 
 
 Major von Hegebach had apparently wholly lost 
 his presence of mind ; with one hand he smoothed his 
 daughter's hair, and with the other pushed her away. 
 
 "Afterwards, afterwards, my child I am occupied 
 with with this gentleman " 
 
 " Your daughter does not disturb us at all, cousin. 
 I think we had better sit down and discuss the whole 
 affair calmly, as is proper for men in the presence of a 
 lady," said the Bennewitzer, and drew his chair up to 
 the table covered with cigar boxes and newspapers. 
 " Pray, William," he then continued, placing a chair 
 for Elsa, " let us speak calmly. You know that I have
 
 64 A Poor Girl. 
 
 come here in no unfriendly mood, and you also know 
 with which of us fate has dealt most hardly." 
 
 Hegebach had seated himself, at a pleading gesture 
 from Elsa. For a moment there was silence in the 
 smoky old room. 
 
 "We two, William," the Bennewitzer began anew, 
 " cannot help it that our uncle, God forgive him, made 
 his will thus and not otherwise ; we must think no more 
 of that. Your claims, as you must admit to yourself, 
 and as your lawyer should tell you, are untenable. I 
 have not even the right to divide the estate and fortune 
 which I have inherited, and which now belong to me ; 
 but I have the right to make you the proposition which 
 I mentioned before, and I meant honestly and kindly 
 with you. Accept this proposition, William, if not for 
 your sake, for your daughter's.' 7 
 
 " I will not accept it," said the Major, " and await 
 further results." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake be prudent, William," pleaded 
 the Bennewitzer, glancing at the young girl. 
 
 " I know what I am doing, thank you." 
 
 With trembling hands, the old man took a package 
 of papers and laid them in another place, opened and 
 shut the cover of his cigar case with nervous haste. 
 Elsa looked from one to the other in perplexity. 
 
 " It is a very material matter in question, Miss von 
 Hegebach," the Bennewitzer turned to the young girl ; 
 " your father of late has believed that since stern fate 
 has robbed me of both sons, and thus of the heirs
 
 A Poor Girl. 65 
 
 of the estate, that he has claims upon it. I do not 
 know how he has been persuaded to bring these claims 
 into court ; in any case he has been badly advised. 
 I came to-day to prevent the beginning of this perfectly 
 useless lawsuit, and wished " 
 
 " To put a plaster on my mouth ! " the Major inter- 
 rupted, violently. " I thank you again for your offer of 
 assistance when I have good right to make claims." 
 
 The Bennewitzer rose. " I meant well, William ; far 
 be it from me to urge anything upon you ; enforce your 
 claims." 
 
 He took a hat with a wide band of bombazine from 
 the nearest chair, and offered his hand to the young 
 girl. " I should be very happy to meet my charming 
 cousin under pleasanter circumstances. God bless you, 
 Miss von Hegebach ! " 
 
 The next moment the door had closed behind him. 
 
 " Papa ! " said the girl sadly, after the old man, as if 
 wholly forgetful of her presence, had rummaged for 
 some time in the pigeon-holes of his desk, among letters 
 and papers. " Papa ! " 
 
 Hegebach started and rubbed his forehead. 
 
 " Papa, I should like to talk with you for a little 
 while." 
 
 He ceased his search and stared at her. 
 
 " Papa, I merely wished to tell you that I should 
 
 have come to you so gladly, and kept house for you, 
 
 read to you in the evenings and arranged your room 
 
 neatly." There must have been something in her 
 
 5
 
 66 A Poor Girl. 
 
 voice which compelled him to listen to her. He 
 seated himself, and rested his head in one hand. 
 
 " And I should have been so glad to nurse you when 
 you are ill, papa, and you would no longer have been so 
 lonely for aunt Ratenow " The clear, girlish voice 
 suddenly died away in shyness and sadness. " Let 
 me stay with you, papa, I am so sorry for you," she 
 cried, throwing her arms around the old man's neck. 
 "You are always so lonely, you cannot be happy." 
 
 " No, Elsa, that cannot be," he replied, but he did 
 not shake off the little hand. " You are unfortunate, 
 poor child, in that you must call such a beggar as I am 
 father. It could have been otherwise. But whom 
 fate has once placed on a worn-out horse, will never 
 in all his life mount a respectable one. I told aunt 
 Ratenow how much I have to live upon, twenty dollars 
 a month ! That sounds ridiculous, does it not ? The 
 rest of my pension goes to pay old debts which my 
 honor obliges me to liquidate, and which will require 
 years before they are paid." 
 
 " Papa ! " she wished to interrupt, but he took the 
 words out of her mouth. 
 
 " It is best as Mrs. von Ratenow proposed to me 
 yesterday : You shall undertake the education of the 
 little Ratenows, and receive a suitable salary for that, 
 and besides, be like a child of the house. That is 
 more fortunate than hundreds of others in your posi- 
 tion have, and for the rest we will wait," he con- 
 cluded.
 
 A Poor Girl. 67 
 
 The young girl had sprung up, and stared at the 
 speaker's pale face. But she did not say a word. She 
 only suddenly realized that a sweet, golden, careless 
 girlhood no longer awaited her. As if wrapped in gray 
 shadow, the dear old house suddenly rose before her 
 eyes. She no longer had a right to a home, she must 
 earn it by service rendered. She had suddenly been 
 pushed from the position of a child into one of thank- 
 fulness. Yes, how could she have fancied that in this 
 world love and kindness would be given without expect- 
 ing a return ? They had educated a governess for them- 
 selves, that was all. 
 
 An indescribably bitter feeling filled the young girl's 
 heart ; it was not dread of work, it was the pain of a 
 great disappointment. 
 
 " Good-by, papa," said she, putting on her hat, 
 " I will visit you as often as " she paused in her bitter- 
 ness she had wished to say, " as often as my mistress 
 
 " but then she thought of Moritz's kind face, " as 
 
 often as I am permitted," she corrected herself. 
 
 He gave her his hand. " Things will be better, Elsa, 
 you are still so young." 
 
 She nodded, " Good-by, papa," then she went. 
 How differently she had come ! She stood in the 
 door-way with a gloomy face. The elegant carriage 
 which had brought her just then turned the corner 
 of the street. Moritz came for her. She must wait 
 for him. 
 
 " How you look, Elsa," he said, as he sprang out to
 
 68 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 help her into the carriage. " Has any one vexed you, 
 little girl ? " And he took her hand. 
 
 " When do you wish me to begin my instruction ? " 
 was the answer, as they rolled away in the carriage. 
 " And do you not first wish to examine my testimo- 
 nials ? " 
 
 He looked up. Her voice sounded so strangely, her 
 lips were pressed together as if in pain. 
 
 "The instruction?" he asked. " Oh, yes ! mother 
 wished to ask you, I believe, to give the children a little 
 elementary instruction. Will you, Elsa ? " 
 
 " It is all arranged," replied she. " I was not con- 
 sulted." 
 
 " Has anything occurred to wound you, Elsa ? It 
 was the intention of no one, believe me," he added 
 gently, watching the girl's pale face.
 
 A Poor Girl. 69 
 
 She looked at him with eyes shining with tears. 
 " Moritz, I will do anything, I will be with your chil- 
 dren night and day, but offer me no money for it, I 
 cannot bear it ! " she sobbed. 
 
 " Why Elsa, Elsa, how falsely you judge it ! " he 
 cried, startled. And as the carriage stopped before the 
 house door at this moment, he said, " I beg you to go 
 upstairs to Aunt Lott, Elsa; I will only see mother for 
 a moment and then come upstairs at once and speak 
 with you." 
 
 Elsa had stood in her room and gazed out at the 
 storm and rain ; she no longer wept ; she had suddenly 
 become calm. Yesterday lay far behind her, it seemed 
 to her that she had been dreaming. Why had she for- 
 gotten what Aunt Ratenow had told her when she was a 
 child, " You must learn to stand on your own feet. " 
 But who thinks of the needs of life when among gay, 
 young companions, when existence resembles a May 
 morning ? 
 
 " Elsa ! " called a voice. She turned. Aunt Ratenow 
 stood before her. 
 
 " I am very sorry, Elsa, that you have such a false 
 idea of what was meant most kindly. I cannot bestow 
 everything upon you. I must repeat to you that your 
 circumstances are not such as to enable you to flit 
 through life like a gay butterfly ; you must be an in- 
 dustrious bee. If you instruct our children, of course 
 you will receive a salary for it, as would any other 
 that I can and must not spare you ; it is a false pride
 
 70 A Poor Girl. 
 
 which makes you hesitate to accept it, and when you 
 consider the matter you will see this. Life is long, my 
 child. However, I will not force the hateful money 
 into your hands, but save it for you, so that you will 
 have a little capital. But no one compels you to un- 
 dertake the children's instruction, Elsa do you hear ? 
 You are a guest in my house and can remain one as 
 long as you choose ; the decision rests with you, Elsa." 
 
 " I accept the offer and will undertake the instruc- 
 tion," said the girl softly. 
 
 " That is right, Elsa. For the rest everything shall 
 be as of old. How is your father ? " 
 
 " He was excited ; he had a dispute with the Benne- 
 witzer, whom I found there." 
 
 " The Bennewitzer ? " cried Mrs. von Ratenow, so 
 loudly that the girl looked at her in alarm. " And you 
 mention that so casually. Did he see you ? " 
 
 " Yes, aunt." 
 
 " And what did he want ? " 
 
 Elsa was silent for a moment. She had felt that her 
 father was about to yield to a false idea. 
 
 " It was about Bennewitz," said she. " Father, I 
 believe, wishes to compel a portion to be given him by 
 the courts." 
 
 " Is he mad ? " cried the old lady, crimson with 
 anger, and then remembering that the man's daughter 
 stood before her, she added, " You do not understand, 
 Elsa, and I do not mean unkindly. I must speak to 
 your father ; he will stir up a fine commotion. What
 
 A Poor Girl. 71 
 
 does he look like, the Bennewitzer, Elsa ? " And she 
 patted the girl's face. "We will be very comforta- 
 ble here this winter," she added, without awaiting an 
 answer. 
 
 "Aunt Lott," said the girl, with a sad smile, as later 
 she entered her cosey room, " if I shall ever again forget 
 it, pray remind me." 
 
 " Of what, my little rosebud ? " 
 
 "That I am a poor girl."
 
 VI. 
 
 BUT yet she could not always think of it. Elsa had 
 wandered through the garden the next morning, and 
 every tree had nodded to her : " Do you remember 
 me ? " Every spot where as a child she had played, 
 had whispered sweet, confidential words to her young, 
 pained heart ; the sun had shone so brightly and 
 warmly over the stately old house, and in all the 
 country round she knew every roof, every wind-mill, 
 every hill. No ; she was at home, therefore she was 
 not poor. 
 
 How could she be sad in the midst of such gayety, 
 happiness and coseyness ? It was so pleasant in the 
 comfortable dining-room at the well-spread table, so 
 pleasant when Aunt Ratenow told stories of the past ; 
 it was like a sunbeam when Mrs. Frieda laughed and 
 the children joined in so clearly, while Moritz sat at 
 the head of the table, carving the roast and providing 
 for every one. 
 
 " Elsa, are you really no longer hungry ? Pray eat 
 more, little girl ; see this appetizing bit of lamb, eh ? 
 That is right, taste it." And after dinner he took the
 
 A Poor Girl. 73 
 
 little boy on his back, and then there was a wild romp 
 out in the garden, up and down the paths, all together. 
 What laughter and noise there was, until Frieda de- 
 clared, " Pray stop, Moritz, we cannot catch you ! " 
 
 And then the walks out into the country those lovely 
 autumn days, with Frieda and Aunt Ratenow. Some- 
 times the young lady's elegant coupe rolled through 
 the streets of the little city, and the shop-keepers 
 rushed out to open the carriage-door and assist the 
 ladies to alight.- And in the evening there were always 
 guests ; and then John knocked at Aunt Lett's door to 
 ask if Miss von Hegebach would not come down to the 
 young mistress. And how quickly the little hands 
 could arrange the wavy hair and fasten on the pink 
 sash, especially when the old man added, " They are 
 to have some music." 
 
 Who would have thought that the hated piano and 
 singing lessons could have such happy results ? And 
 who would have thought that anything in this world 
 could sing and mourn like that little brown violin which 
 Lieutenant Bernardi held in his arms ? 
 
 The beginning of Elsa's activity had been post- 
 poned. She did not know that Moritz had privately 
 told his wife, " Listen, Frieda dear, you absolutely do 
 not wish the children to be bothered with lessons before 
 the beginning of January ? " And when Elsa asked the 
 young mother to fix a time for the beginning of lessons 
 she had replied very calmly, " We have plenty of time 
 to decide that ; I cannot think of shutting up the chil-
 
 74 A Poor Girl. 
 
 dren before the middle of January. Besides, Moritz 
 must first fit up a school-room with comfortable seats ; 
 the eldest child is growing so fast and beyond her 
 strength, and besides the children could do nothing 
 before Christmas." 
 
 It was useless for Aunt Ratenow to talk, for Frieda's 
 wishes, as their mother, must be respected, and besides 
 it was far too pleasant for young Mrs. von Ratenow 
 to have a companion during the quiet time of morning 
 for her to listen to "sensible advice."- And Moritz? 
 Oh, he was henpecked, as the old lady told Aunt 
 Lott confidentially, within her own four walls. 
 
 Elsa had met her former school-mate, Miss Annie 
 Cramm, in Frieda's charming drawing-room with its 
 blue hangings. She had returned to her father's house 
 immediately after her confirmation, and had been out in 
 society for two years. Her thin face was as pale and 
 immature as ever, her blue eyes as light, and her hair 
 even more straw-colored, but it was arranged with the 
 utmost care, and the handsome gowns fitted the young 
 lady's somewhat angular figure faultlessly. 
 
 "She is a goose," said Frieda very frankly. 
 
 "But with golden feathers, dear child," added Aunt 
 Ratenow ; " that excuses much." 
 
 Elsa chatted with Annie Cramm to her heart's con- 
 tent of boarding-school days ; the young lady even 
 sometimes came to see Aunt Lott. She could sigh 
 deeply and look very mournful, and she kept a journal 
 in which she conscientiously recorded every ball and
 
 A Poor Girl. 75 
 
 the name of every one with whom she danced a qua- 
 drille or cotillon. As she possessed a thin soprano 
 voice, she was often present at Frieda's musical even- 
 ings. She preferred to sing alone, and always appeared 
 in the most faultless costumes, although not always 
 adapted to the situation and person, thus not seldom 
 exciting the young hostess's mockery, the latter being 
 morbidly sensitive to all that was not chic. 
 
 Elsa's black cashmere gown was condemned once for 
 all, in her opinion, as "frightfully respectable." But 
 what could Frieda do ? At first she had intended 
 replenishing the girl's more than simple wardrobe from 
 her own store, but this had been energetically opposed 
 by her husband, usually so bidable. 
 
 " If Elsa needs anything," he declared, " mother will 
 attend to it for her as she has always done before. 
 Besides, what could she do with your cast-off wardrobe ? 
 She is a head taller than you. I positively will not 
 consent that she shall wear your old clothes, Frieda ! 
 Why stamp her with poverty in the sight of every 
 one ? " 
 
 And so the slender blonde girl always appeared in 
 her simple black gown, which doubly increased her 
 peculiar loveliness. 
 
 Things had now gone so far that twice in the week, 
 on certain days, lights were placed on the piano, and 
 there was music from four o'clock in the afternoon until 
 midnight. 
 
 " I can do nothing but blow on a comb," declared
 
 76 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Moritz one afternoon when Elsa met him coming down- 
 stairs with a pile of music under his arm, " and if 
 necessity demands whistle l Heil dir in Siegeskranz ! ' 
 I appear at supper punctually, and if afterwards a few 
 songs are sung I enjoy listening. But I know nothing 
 of your symphonies. Good-by, Elsa ; and keep a 
 couple of songs for me." 
 
 And as he had nothing to do outside, he went up to 
 his mother's room, lit a cigar, and seated himself com- 
 fortably in his late father's arm-chair. Mother and son 
 were never at a loss for conversation ; the household 
 and estate would in themselves furnish topics, and they 
 always discussed everything together. The practical 
 old lady was ever ready with good advice, and so they 
 were very soon engaged in an agricultural discussion. 
 Then they came to city news, and finally Moritz told 
 her that he had spoken with the Bennewitzer a few 
 days before in Magdeburg, and the latter had told him 
 that his cousin had really brought suit against him. 
 
 " The fool will have to wound his head before he 
 realizes that there are walls," said Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 " I have lamed my tongue talking, and half paralyzed 
 my hand writing, but he clings to his fancied ' good 
 rights ' with a firmness worthy of a better cause." 
 
 She was silent, but the knitting-needles clicked more 
 energetically than ever. Nothing made the old lady 
 more irritable than when any one refused to be taught 
 by her. 
 
 " Say, my boy," she asked suddenly, " is it really only
 
 A Poor Girl. 77 
 
 the desire for music which brings the black Lieutenant 
 here so often with his violin ? " 
 
 " Probably," replied Moritz. " They do nothing else 
 but make music, and forget to eat and drink." 
 
 " But do you know, Moritz ? I place no dependence 
 upon you, in such things you are a child. I must in- 
 vestigate for myself." 
 
 " Oh, mother, Aunt Lott sits there knits and is 
 delighted " 
 
 " Yes, she is the right one," nodded Mrs. von Rate- 
 now, still between jest and earnest, "a good soul, but 
 in spite of her age she would be the first one to fall in 
 love with Bernardi." 
 
 Moritz laughed loudly. 
 
 " It is really no laughing matter, my boy ; you also 
 fell deeply in love once, do you know ? And others 
 have eyes in their heads and fresh young blood in their 
 veins," and with these words she took off her neat tulle 
 cap, and smoothing her shining and still brown hair, 
 she added, " Give me the cap with the lilac ribbons, 
 from my top drawer, Moritz. So, that is it ; I thank 
 you, and now we too will revel in music for once." 
 
 The large man had closed the drawer again, and 
 brushed some ashes from his dark-blue clothes. " Well, 
 mother dear, if you mean Elsa " 
 
 " I mean nothing at all, Moritz. Will you come with 
 me ? " 
 
 " Willingly, so that you may see that no love potions 
 are being brewed, you all too anxious little mother."
 
 78 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Down in the drawing-room the chandeliers and lamps 
 were already lighted ; they had just finished a Kreutzer 
 concerto, and were animatedly discussing it when 
 mother and son entered. Frieda sat at the piano prac- 
 ticing a difficult passage, Lieutenant Bernardi had put 
 down his violin and stood beside Elsa, who was looking 
 over some music. Annie Cramm and Aunt Lott sat near 
 the window, their cheeks flushed deeply with interest. 
 
 " We should like to hear a few songs," said Moritz, 
 in excuse of their sudden appearance, and with a 
 sonorous "Good evening, ladies, good evening, dear 
 Bernardi," Aunt Ratenow seated herself in the corner 
 beside Aunt Lott. Moritz smiled to himself; she was 
 no diplomat, his magnificent old mother, she always 
 went straight to the point. It amused him greatly to 
 watch her. 
 
 Miss Annie Cramm was urged to sing. Elsa sat 
 quietly in the deep window recess, and her sweet, 
 childish face peeped out from behind the heavy blue 
 curtains which formed a fine background for the blonde 
 head. Bernardi had gone to the opposite end of the 
 room ; he leaned against Frieda's book-case directly 
 opposite Elsa. 
 
 " A very handsome fellow," Mrs. von Ratenow ad- 
 mitted to herself, " so slender and aristocratic-looking, 
 and with the best of manners ; no wonder if " 
 
 Then Annie Cramm's high voice began, a voice which 
 had such an alarming effect upon the high-shouldered, 
 thin figure of the singer.
 
 A Poor Girl. 79 
 
 "Very beautiful, my dear young lady," said the old 
 lady in praise, " but I do not understand it, it is too 
 high-flown for me." 
 
 " Mamma dear, what a crime ! It was by Wagner," 
 cried Frieda. 
 
 " I do not know him," was the response, given with 
 unshaken calm. 
 
 " Yes, you see that is because you will never go to 
 the opera with us, mamma, when we are in Berlin," 
 complained the younger lady. 
 
 " Child, I am really somewhat proud of my nerves, 
 but I always tell myself the present music is beyond 
 me. I tremble in all my limbs after the first act, and 
 have but one thought will they never stop ? You 
 who are always talking about your nerves can yet en- 
 dure such things for hours. Elsa, will you not sing us 
 a simple song ? " 
 
 The young girl went to the piano with crimson 
 cheeks. 
 
 " We can try the old song with the new setting," pro- 
 posed Frieda ; she secretly was in a quiver of horror at 
 her mother-in-law's views, and there were several dis- 
 cords in the first few bars of the introduction. But 
 now a sweet full alto voice began : 
 
 " Ah, who in this world is like me left to pine? 
 No father, no mother, no fortune is mine. 
 And nothing else have I to claim or to keep, 
 Save only two brown eyes with which I may weep.
 
 8o 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Far over the fields howls the wild autumn wind. 
 My lover was faithless to me and unkind, 
 Because on my bosom no jewels bright shone. 
 Ah, has ever such longing as mine yet been known ? 
 
 " Down there flows the river, so black and so deep. 
 Ah. could I but lie there forever asleep ! 
 Three flowers, three rosebuds, a shroud white as snow ; 
 There would I rest sweetly, nor know pain or woe." 
 
 " Bravo, Elsa ! " said the old lady, holding out her 
 hand to the girl. The others were silent. Bernardi 
 raised his violin and began to play the simple mournful 
 melody, and then a wild strain, a chaos of tones through
 
 A Poor Girl. 81 
 
 which the melody could be heard, and finally the grief- 
 stricken cry of the last stanza. 
 
 The two young people gazed at each other while he 
 played, then the girl's moist brown eyes were lowered, 
 and the flush on her cheeks gave place to pallor. 
 Silently she seated herself near Aunt Lott. Bernardi 
 had put down the violin and received warm praise; 
 only Aunt Ratenow was silent. 
 
 " It is an old song, "said she at length, " with an ever 
 new melody. Do you not say so, Frieda ? Elsa ! " she 
 then cried, as they went to the dining-room, and the 
 young girl was about to take the chair next the officer's, 
 " Elsa dear, let Moritz or Aunt Lott sit there, and help 
 me a little here ; I have gout in my arm again." 
 
 Elsa was ready at once, but Moritz stared at his 
 mother, this feminine strategy fairly terrified him. And 
 all so unnecessary, as he thought. There he sat, the 
 dangerous man, and chatted on common-place topics 
 with his pale neighbor, peeled an orange for Frieda, 
 and told regimental stories. Conversation was carried 
 on briskly around the table ; finally Moritz began to 
 talk of old regimental days, and the men became quite 
 excited. 
 
 It was late when they rose from table ; the carriage 
 had long been waiting for Annie Cramm, outside in the 
 wind and rain. Now she wrapped herself in her velvet 
 cloak and took leave in the hall. 
 
 " Lieutenant, may I offer you a seat in my carriage ? " 
 she asked. 
 6
 
 82 A Poor Girl. 
 
 He stood beside Elsa, his cap under his arm, talking 
 to her. The large room was but dimly lighted ; still 
 Annie saw that he drew the girl's slender, half-resisting 
 hand to his lips. 
 
 " Will you drive with me, Lieutenant ? " she asked 
 again impatiently ; " it is already very late, and I am in 
 a hurry." 
 
 " Thank you, Miss Cramm, but I prefer to walk, the 
 exercise will do me good," he replied, with his court- 
 liest bow. 
 
 Annie Cramm drew the veil over her pale face and 
 forgot to bid Elsa Hegebach good-by ; Moritz escorted 
 her to her carriage, and then shook the hand of the 
 young officer who was just descending the steps. He 
 stood there for a while gazing after Bernardi, looked up 
 at the sky, and finally his eyes remained fixed upon two 
 windows of the upper story, behind which a light was 
 just then visible. 
 
 He began to whistle a few bars from " Boccaccio" 
 and went into the house. " Frieda," he said to his 
 beautiful little wife, who was closing the piano in the 
 drawing-room, " is there anything in the air ? " 
 
 " Now you have made another discovery, Moritz," 
 she replied, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, Bernardi and " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! she is too coarse," she interrupted 
 him. 
 
 "No, no ! I mean Elsa." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " was the instant reply, " if that is
 
 A Poor Girl. 83 
 
 all you know that is simply impossible he does not 
 think of such a thing." 
 
 " But if she, Elsa 
 
 " Well, if she does ! I had two lovers before you, 
 Moritz, and I am still alive." 
 
 He did not hear the last, the words had suddenly 
 occurred to him which the girl had sung earlier in the 
 evening : 
 
 " Far over the fields howls the wild autumn wind. 
 My lover was faithless to me and unkind." 
 
 "It would be a shame," said he, and drew his hand 
 over his eyes. 
 
 But upstairs a girl sat on the deepest window seat, 
 and held her hands clasped over her beating heart. She 
 was not poor, she was so rich that she would not have 
 changed with any one in the world. How was it pos- 
 sible that life could be so beautiful ? Was it possible 
 that any one could love her, love her as his eyes plainly 
 said ? And she sat there for a long while, staring at the 
 lights of the city, until one after the other was extin- 
 guished. Aunt Lett's calm breathing could be heard in 
 the next room, she slept so sweetly and soundly, and 
 forgot to rise and say to her who had forgotten it all 
 this time, " Child, what are you dreaming of ? You are 
 only a poor girl!"
 
 VII. 
 
 IT was winter. At Christmas the snow had lain 
 white and shining over the quiet country and the roofs 
 of the houses. It had snowed until New Year's day. 
 The streets and roads were as hard and smooth as the 
 best parquet, and Moritz had had the horses rough 
 shod, for there was to be a sleigh-ride, a large sleighing 
 party. 
 
 Young Mrs. von Ratenow, in a dark-blue velvet 
 costume edged with fur, was just drawing on her gloves 
 before the large mirror in her bedroom. Moritz de- 
 clared that she looked sweet enough to kiss, and he 
 would have looked forward to the whole affair if only 
 this unfortunate Bernardi were not to drive Elsa. 
 
 The young wife shrugged her dainty shoulders 
 scarcely perceptibly. " This eternal anxiety about 
 Elsa ! Mamma speaks of nothing else, and so do you. 
 Is she then anything so very much better than other 
 girls ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Moritz warmly. " She has a warm, 
 loving heart, and when she feels anything she does so 
 deeply and with all her heart. Superficial trifling or 
 even coquetry is wholly foreign to the little girl."
 
 A Poor Girl. 85 
 
 " You seem to have studied this girlish heart very 
 accurately," was the apparently calm reply ; but Moritz 
 knew the accent of this complaisant tone only too well 
 not to be sure that the speaker was very irritated. 
 
 " Frieda, I beg you I have known her ever since she 
 was born, as I know our children ! " His honest eyes 
 gazed fairly in alarm at her face which was so blooming 
 beneath the feathers of her hat. But she calmly fast- 
 ened the last button of her long gloves, and picked up 
 her coquettish little muff. " I believe the gentlemen 
 are already in the drawing-room." Then she floated 
 past him without paying the slightest attention to the 
 man's hand which was held out to her conciliatingly. 
 
 It was not the first time that the young wife had 
 spoken thus; in her opinion the way people troubled 
 themselves about this girl was horrible, for she really had 
 quite an easy time in the world. Who would lift a hand 
 for her were she at home with her surly old father ? And 
 mamma Ratenow was always emphasizing the remark 
 that she wished to prevent a misfortune, and Moritz, as 
 faithful echo, joined in. That became tiresome after a 
 while. What did it matter if an officer did pay atten- 
 tions to her ? She amused herself, one could not grudge 
 her that, there was really no danger, for he was far 
 too prudent, Bernardi, and Elsa ! absurd ! 
 
 Her cheeks still wore the flush of displeasure as she 
 entered the drawing-room and greeted Captain von 
 Franken and Lieutenant Bernardi, the two gentlemen 
 who were to have the honor of driving the ladies.
 
 86 A Poor Girl. 
 
 The Captain, a slender, handsome man and great 
 admirer of young Mrs. von Ratenow, jestingly sank on 
 one knee, and handed his lady a bouquet of pale yellow 
 roses. 
 
 Elsa held a bouquet of violets ; her face was radiant. 
 
 " Oh, Frieda, see ! Snow and ice and these lovely flow- 
 ers ; it is like a dream ! " 
 
 Like a dream, like a sweet dream was life. The sun 
 shone so brightly upon the sunny landscape, the air was 
 so clear and cold, so delightfully pure, the sleigh-bells 
 rang, and the line of sleighs flew over the road ; how 
 beautiful the world is when the heart is full of happi- 
 ness ! The young girl's face had but once saddened, 
 that was when she passed the house where her father 
 lived. She looked up ; he stood at the window, in 
 dressing-gown and cap, but he did not return the girl's 
 eager nod and greeting. 
 
 Papa was always so absorbed in thought. Decid- 
 edly, at times papa did not know that he possessed a 
 daughter. 
 
 But then the band began to play, and they talked of 
 nothing at all and yet so much. " My Christian name 
 is Bernard," he had told her, and carefully drawn the 
 warm lap-robe over her. 
 
 " Bernard Bernardi, that sounds very pretty," said 
 Elsa. 
 
 " Your cousin is a true Providence to us," he went 
 on. " Only fancy, where are we to dance this evening 
 but in the hall at the castle ? Really charming people ! "
 
 A Poor Girl. 87 
 
 " Where is Annie Cramm ? Who is driving her ? " 
 asked Elsa. 
 
 He laughed so that his white teeth shone under his 
 black moustache. 
 
 " Ensign Hubart was ordered to that post." 
 " Oh, how horrible ! Annie is so good." 
 " Good ? Is that all ? That is very little." 
 " That is a great deal, sir," said the young girl, her 
 brown, childish eyes gazing at him very seriously. 
 
 He must look at her continually ; he knew every 
 feature of this pure, fresh face, and it was delightful to 
 drive beside this lovely girl who was so different from 
 the others, so so he did not know the right word 
 himself so true-hearted, so lovable, so truly womanly. 
 And while he gazed fixedly at her he thought of his 
 home, his mother ; and then he suddenly stood in the 
 old-fashioned sitting-room, and beside him stood Elsa. 
 " There drive hunger and thirst together," remarked 
 the fat Referendar Golling to Lieutenant von Rost, 
 and puffed the smoke of his cigar out into the cold, 
 wintry air comfortably. They were in the sleigh 
 behind Elsa and Bernardi ; neither had a lady with 
 him, probably they did not desire one. Lieutenant 
 von Rost here took the part of lady ; he had tied a 
 handkerchief around his arm and managed a huge 
 crimson fan with great skill. 
 
 " Ah, well ! a sleighing party is quite endurable ; the 
 good sideboards in the castle are a consoling back- 
 ground," yawned the Lieutenant.
 
 88 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Good heavens, the man will never be so mad as to 
 have serious intentions ? " asked the Referendar. 
 
 " Oh, what do I 
 know about it ? " 
 the officer yawned 
 again ; " it is his af- 
 fair. He knows as 
 well as the rest of 
 us that the old lady 
 has nothing to 
 leave." 
 
 " He makes it a 
 trifle hard, dear 
 Rost, and be- 
 sides he is a 
 good - hearted 
 fellow." 
 
 " Yes ; who is 
 not? But this is where 
 
 his good-heartedness ends," declared the Lieutenant, 
 and dropped the eye-glass with which he had been 
 watching the pair ahead of him. 
 
 Moritz was in the last sleigh with a pretty young
 
 A Poor Girl. 89 
 
 woman. He was irritable, and continually looking for 
 Frieda and Elsa. 
 
 " Miss von Hegebach is quite far ahead, Mr. von 
 Ratenow, Bernardi is driving her. He is at your house 
 a great deal, is he not ? His sister is a friend of mine ; 
 the father was a physician here formerly. He has quite a 
 
 large practice now in B , I believe, but nothing more. 
 
 The large family you know, Mr. von Ratenow " 
 
 " I know his family affairs quite well," replied Moritz, 
 crossly. He understood very well what hint was in- 
 tended to be conveyed to him. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! Pardon me, dear Mr. von Ratenow," 
 said the young woman, and stared at him. Well, then, 
 they of the castle knew that he was not at all a good 
 match. 
 
 Meanwhile the castle was a perfect pandemonium, as 
 old Mrs. von Ratenow angrily told Aunt Lott. The 
 table was set in the dining-room, and the gardener 
 dragged half the contents of the conservatory into the 
 hall where they were to dance. Frieda had left off 
 mourning on January ist punctually ; to-day she gave 
 her first large entertainment, and that an impromptu 
 one. She had come home from a party the night 
 before with this idea, and had set all hands and feet in 
 the house in motion early this morning. 
 
 " Only leave me in peace," Mrs. von Ratenow told 
 her daughter-in-law ; " send me the children so that 
 they will not be in your way, that is all that I will have 
 to do with the affair."
 
 90 A Poor Girl. 
 
 In Frieda's dressing-room the elegant, pale-blue silk 
 gown lay ready for the evening, with every article 
 needed for her toilet. 
 
 Upstairs in Elsa's room two old hands had laid 
 out the simple white batiste gown which had been a 
 Christmas present to the young girl ; and the two little 
 gilt slippers, small as those of a child, stood on the 
 table before the old lady. Here and there she had 
 fastened a knot of ribbon with true delight, for it was 
 no trifle to dress her child for the first time for a dance. 
 She had then donned her gray silk, had lighted the 
 lamps, and chosen a romance by Hacklander. Now 
 she waited for Elsa to assist her that she might make a 
 quick toilet. 
 
 Gradually it grew quieter down-stairs ; the prepara- 
 tions were completed, it was the quiet before the 
 storm. And now the sleigh-bells were heard outside ; 
 there they were, Moritz, Frieda, Elsa, and all the rest. 
 
 In a few moments the light steps of the young girl 
 came down the corridor, the door was opened, and she 
 stood on the threshold, flushed and out of breath. 
 
 " Good evening, my dear little auntie! " she cried, and 
 threw both arms around the old lady's neck. A breath 
 of fresh, cold, snowy air entered the room with her. 
 
 " Was it nice, Mouse ? Did you enjoy yourself ? 
 Come, drink your tea." 
 
 But the young girl hastily declined, quickly ran into 
 her bedroom, and there she stood in the darkness for a 
 long time, forgetting to remove coat and hat.
 
 A Poor Girl. 91 
 
 Aunt Lott came to help her. 
 
 " But Elsa, there you stand, and it is high time to 
 change your dress." She fetched a light and took the 
 child's wraps off. "Why, what is the matter, Elsa? 
 You surely are not crying ? " 
 
 The girl was silent and began to change her dress, 
 but to-day she did not seem able to arrange her hair ; 
 the trembling hands three times tried to fasten the 
 heavy braids, and the rose would not be adjusted. 
 
 " That is good, that is very pretty," said Aunt Lott. 
 "You usually are not so vain." 
 
 Yes, usually, Aunt Lott. She had no suspicion for 
 whom the child adorned herself. 
 
 At length she was ready. 
 
 "Aunt Lott, I feel so strangely to-day." She really 
 trembled nervously. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter, child ? Have you taken 
 cold on the drive ?" 
 
 " No, no. Come, aunt." 
 
 " Will you not take a few drops of cologne, Elsa ? " 
 
 She did not answer ; she stood motionless, and her 
 eyes stared into space with a strangely radiant expres- 
 sion. She thought she heard her name again, " Elsa," 
 and then a few simple words : " Happiness ! What is 
 happiness if not this moment ? " 
 
 His voice shook so strangely as he said that. He 
 had spoken to her of his parents on the homeward 
 drive, how sweet and lovely his mother was, how she 
 loved to hear him play on his violin. His father had
 
 92 A Poor Girl. 
 
 once played that instrument; he remembered very well 
 how he, when a little boy, had sat in the twilight, on his 
 mother's lap listening intently while his father walked 
 up and down the room playing. Sometimes he would 
 let his bow fall and come over to kiss mother and 
 child. Oh, yes, the little violin had witnessed much 
 happiness, that was why it sang so sweetly. Ah, happi- 
 ness ! What is happiness if not this moment ? 
 
 And their hands suddenly clasped each other, and 
 Elsa shed tears, but they were tears of joy, for the 
 young heart rejoiced, and above them the starry heaven 
 arched itself. 
 
 " Elsa, come, I beg you ! " pleaded Aunt Lott. " I 
 think we are the last." 
 
 She followed the gray silk train as though in a dream ; 
 she dreaded seeing him in the bright light, and yet her 
 heart beat rapidly. 
 
 There was a hum of voices in the brilliantly-lighted 
 hall and the adjoining dancing-room, card-tables were 
 arranged in Moritz's room, and Mrs. von Ratenow held 
 some cards in her hand. She was talking to an old 
 gentleman when Elsa approached her to kiss her hand. 
 The old lady stared at her in surprise for a moment, 
 the girl was so beautiful this evening; she patted her 
 cheek almost shyly and followed her with her eyes as 
 she threaded her way through the gay crowd, her head 
 slightly bowed, and yet so proud, the beautiful figure in 
 the plain white gown, through which her neck and arms 
 shone rosily. She paused beside Annie Cramm. This
 
 A Poor Girl. 93 
 
 young lady looked very cross and snappish under her 
 wreath of white lilies ; in her lilac gown, with its over- 
 abundant garniture of lace and flowers, she resembled 
 a wax-figure exhibiting a new costume in the show 
 window of a dressmaking establishment. Everything 
 about her toilet was so elegant, from the pale lilac satin 
 shoes to the expensive point-lace fan and the diamond 
 butterfly which shone so dazzlingly and pretentiously 
 on the young lady's bony neck. 
 
 " What a caricature the present fashion is," mur- 
 mured Mrs. von Ratenow. " I am surprised that Annie 
 Cramm can dance, she is so tightly laced, and how she 
 looks ! " 
 
 The first notes of the waltz rang through the room ; 
 as if electrified the couples began to dance; it was a 
 beautiful picture in the handsome frame. 
 
 " Where is Elsa, Lott ? I do not see her," asked Mrs. 
 von Ratenow. 
 
 " There, there ! " cried the old lady. " Ratenow, the 
 child does not dance, she flies ! " she cried, in an ec- 
 stasy, and took her lorgnon to follow her darling with 
 rapturous eyes. 
 
 " She still finds pleasure in it, my dear madam," 
 remarked an old man with gold spectacles. "Good 
 heavens, eighteen years old ! " 
 
 " Tell me, my dear Councillor," asked Mrs. von 
 Ratenow, " are you not the Bennewitzer Hegebach's 
 adviser ? " 
 
 " I have that honor, madam."
 
 94 A Poor Girl. 
 
 "Well " 
 
 "Well, the Major's suit was defeated, naturally." 
 
 "Of course," nodded Mrs. von Ratenow. " Does he 
 know it yet ? " 
 
 " He will have learned of it to-day, madam. I too 
 am curious as to the effect it will have upon him." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow suddenly looked anxiously in the 
 speaker's face. " Do you believe that he will learn a 
 lesson from it ? " 
 
 "Oh, no indeed," replied he. "As long as the old 
 hot head has breath, he will quarrel." 
 
 The dance was at an end, the guests withdrew to the 
 adjoining room, to the charming little nooks among the 
 shrubbery, or to the conservatory. Bernardi had led 
 Elsa to Frieda's little boudoir; the girl was looking for 
 the mistress of this apartment, in order that she might 
 offer some assistance in her duties as hostess. No one 
 was there but the two little girls, who, in their very 
 short white frocks, were seated on a lounge, absorbed in 
 one of mamma's beautiful books. Frieda's large dog 
 sat beside them with a knowing air. 
 
 Elsa seated herself in a low arm-chair near the chil- 
 dren and began to talk to them. The eldest laid the 
 book on her knee. It was a charming picture, and she 
 felt that his eyes rested upon her in admiration. She 
 looked up and their eyes met, until, blushing deeply, 
 she lowered her lashes again. 
 
 " Now we will soon begin to study," said the young 
 girl, stroking the eldest girl's hair.
 
 A Poor Girl. 95 
 
 " I can read now, Aunt Elsa, listen ! " And, pointing 
 out the letters with her little finger, the child read what 
 was printed beneath the picture : 
 
 " Love conquers all things. 
 You lie ! said the penny." 
 
 Elsa looked at the picture ; it was an illustration of 
 "Old German wit and wisdom." A bridal procession 
 ascended the steps of a church, the young nobleman 
 led the magnificently dressed bride, a whole crowd of 
 stately relatives followed. Aside from them stood a 
 poorly clad girl, with no ornaments save two long blonde 
 braids. She had turned her back to the procession, 
 buried her face in her apron and wept. Bernardi 
 looked over Elsa's shoulder at the page. 
 
 The little girl asked whether the picture pleased him. 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " Bernardi, oh a word," suddenly said Lieutenant 
 von Rost's voice, close behind him. He left the room 
 with his comrade. 
 
 " What do you want, Rost ? " he asked in the next 
 room. 
 
 "Bernardi," said the officer, removing his eye-glass, 
 " you and I have always been frank with each other. I 
 am frank with you now. Get leave for a while or have 
 yourself transferred, or as far as I am concerned marry 
 Annie Cramm " 
 
 Bernardi grew white to the lips. "You must be 
 plainer, Rost." 
 
 " Plainer ? Very well ; you have debts, mon ami,
 
 9 6 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 although no enormous ones ; you have neither a wealthy 
 uncle nor aunt, and your father possesses all possible 
 virtues but no earthly goods. Still plainer ? " he asked. 
 " You certainly seem slow of comprehension, or else you 
 would long ago have guessed from Ratenow's highly 
 constrained manner to you, the general opinion which 
 
 prevails in this hospitable house concerning your behav- 
 ior. I do not, to be sure, know how far you have 
 gone, and whether you still can withdraw ; in case this 
 is no longer possible, you maybe sure of my sympathy." 
 Without another word, he left his comrade and re- 
 turned to Elsa, who was still listening to the children's
 
 A Poor Girl. 97 
 
 chat. The book she had laid on a table, and was again 
 absorbed in her happy thoughts. 
 
 " I have the honor of this dance, Miss von Hege- 
 bach," said the young officer, and with a jesting remark 
 he led her back to the hall. 
 
 Bernardi was in the most painful frame of mind ; he 
 forced his way through the next rooms with a gloomy 
 face, and remained standing in the door of the hall, 
 beside Moritz. In fact the man, usually so affable, was 
 remarkably cool to him. Then it had gone so far that 
 the very sparrows chatted of it on the roofs. Stroking 
 his moustache, he went over the whole list of his rela- 
 tives. Rost was right, he had not a single wealthy uncle 
 or aunt from whom he might hope to inherit. 
 
 " Oho, Colonel ! " he heard Mrs. von Ratenow say 
 suddenly, close behind him, " that is a matter of opin- 
 ion." It was spoken so loudly and sternly. 
 
 He turned and looked into the adjoining room. The 
 old lady in her heavy silk gown sat opposite the regi- 
 mental commander at the nearest whist table ; they were 
 playing cards, and her face wore the severe expression 
 which was peculiar to it when she prepared to defend 
 one of her opinions. 
 
 " That is a matter of opinion," she repeated. " It is 
 not my view. I have seen too much misery from this 
 so-called sense of honor. I will give you an example at 
 once." 
 
 She had finished her hand of cards, and laid her 
 folded hands upon the table. It suddenly seemed to 
 7
 
 98 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Bernard! that she now spoke so loudly because she had 
 just discovered him at the door. Involuntarily he 
 listened. 
 
 " She was my friend, Colonel ; you surely know Major 
 von Welsleben and his wife ? Well, they met and fell 
 in love with each other when they were mere children. 
 At that age one does not consider the prose of life, you 
 were about to say, Colonel ? Very well, then some one 
 should tell the young people that it is their bounden 
 duty to awake from their moonlight idyll of ' love in a 
 cottage,' should look about in real life, and recognize 
 that one does not live on love and the perfume of roses. 
 
 "Well, they were betrothed; it was an endless engage- 
 ment, he an irritable man, she a nervous girl, until the 
 clergyman at length consecrated their unhappy marriage. 
 Now listen to what is coming, Colonel. You declared 
 that his sense of honor would have forced him to 
 engage himself to the girl since he had so openly showed 
 her that he loved her ! A false sense of honor, sir ! 
 My old butler, who has lived in my house for thirty-two 
 years he is not one of the cleverest of men one even- 
 ing said to me, as he was setting the table, ' Mrs. von 
 Hegebach, this table-cloth absolutely cannot be used ; if 
 I draw it over this end it does not cover the other, if I 
 cover that end the table shows at this end. I have tor- 
 mented myself for a good hour with the thing.' Thus it 
 was with the Welslebens, their whole life they spent in 
 drawing the table-cloth here and there, but it never was 
 large enough. Children came, money grew more and
 
 A Poor Girl. 99 
 
 more scarce, bills poured in upon them from every 
 direction, joy had long since been unknown in the 
 house, and when the bell rang, the wife started anxiously 
 because she thought it must again be one of those 
 often presented, and alas, never paid bills. The wife 
 worried herself thin and sickly, and he went oftener 
 than was good for him to the tavern. Now, I ask you, 
 sir, where " 
 
 Bernardi did not hear the rest. Suddenly he went 
 up to Frieda and begged for an extra dance. She 
 declined. " My dear Bernardi, take pity on Miss 
 Cramm." He bowed and left the room. 
 
 Elsa's brown eyes sought some one. Lieutenant 
 Rost knew very well whom. He was very sorry for 
 the girl, as sorry as he could be for any one. He would 
 gladly have settled a few thousand dollars upon Ber- 
 nardi, so that these little feet might trip beside him 
 through life. " On my honor, she is charming ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, Bernardi had paced up and down the 
 broad garden path in stormy haste. " If you still can 
 withdraw " the words rang in his ears. He grew dizzy. 
 It seemed to him that he could murder the man who 
 had spoken these words. But they were all right, and 
 that was the devilish part of it ! Could he withdraw 
 now without a scandal? He had exchanged no definite 
 words with her in an hour perhaps he would have. 
 And yet she must have read in his eyes a thousand 
 times, as he had in her clear brown, childish eyes, that 
 they loved each other dearly.
 
 loo A Poor Girl. 
 
 But what foolishness ! The old lady's description 
 was so hopelessly horrible, so fearfully true ; a miserable 
 prospect ! He pushed the hair back from his fore- 
 head ; a melody suddenly came to his mind, simple 
 words : 
 
 " Far over the fields howls the wild autumn wind. 
 My lover was faithless to me and unkind." 
 
 And again he saw the picture which he had seen shortly 
 before, and the weeping girl took the form of Elsa von 
 Hegebach. 
 
 No, he could not, he would not withdraw; he could 
 not live if Elsa von Hegebach were to look upon him 
 as a despicable, faithless man. He had held her hand 
 in his for one rapturous moment, and love was too 
 holy, .woman too sacred to him. There must be an out- 
 let from his difficulty, at worst he could resign. Sud- 
 denly he returned with great strides to the house, and 
 through the drawing-room to the card-room. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. von Ratenow," said he with a deep 
 bow, ''may I ask you for a short interview?" He spoke 
 softly, and gazed calmly at the intelligent face which 
 was turned to him in astonishment. 
 
 She did not answer immediately, but she put down 
 the cards. " Go to my sitting-room. I will follow 
 you," she replied as softly. It was well that the others 
 were talking so loudly, and that just then the music 
 began again. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow looked after him as he disappeared
 
 A Poor Girl. 101 
 
 behind the portieres. "Here we have it," she said to 
 herself. " My dear Councillor, will you take my hand 
 for fifteen minutes or so ? Thank you." And passing 
 through the ball-room, she followed the young officer 
 to her room. It was lighted by but a single lamp, and 
 from the twilight a grave, pale face met her gaze. 
 
 " Well, dear Bernardi ? " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Ratenow, a short time ago you 
 pronounced a severe sentence upon that " he hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " I know what you mean," said she. " You surely 
 do not wish to force me to retract my remark ? " It 
 sounded jokingly, but her eyes were grave, almost stern. 
 
 " Do you not think an exception possible ? " he asked. 
 
 " No ! " she replied shortly, and seated herself in the 
 nearest chair. 
 
 " Not even when a firm, honest purpose is united to 
 a heart full of true love ? " 
 
 He spoke with deep emotion ; the old lady looked 
 up at him almost compassionately. 
 
 " Good heavens ! They all think that ; they all 
 believe that, but it is the vain delusion of a lover, 
 Bernardi." 
 
 "I would resign, dear madam. It is true that our 
 rank demands great outward show ; the lot of a poor 
 officer is most miserable. I would never offer it to 
 Elsa von Hegebach I " 
 
 " Elsa von Hegebach ? " Mrs. von Ratenow rose 
 and approached the young man in her rustling silk
 
 102 A Poor Girl. 
 
 gown. " If you mean Elsa von Hegebach, I tell you 
 she is a poor girl, and would never allow a man to give 
 up his career for her sake only to lead a discontented, 
 empty life with her. She is far too sensible for that, 
 sir ; and I am firmly convinced that you are honorable 
 enough not to make such a proposition to a child who 
 does not yet know what it means to bind herself forever. 
 Up to this time she has never known the needs of life." 
 
 She had spoken loudly and violently, and now con- 
 tinued, " Do you think that when you have left off the 
 gay coat you can live like a day-laborer ? The world 
 of to-day ruins one for that from his very youth. Go, 
 Bernardi, I should never have thought you so foolish." 
 
 " I love Miss von Hegebach," he replied, and gazed 
 firmly into her excited face. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you have plunged in over your ears ! 
 I saw it coming, unfortunately." 
 
 " And I am loved in return." 
 
 " Ah ! " The old lady tossed back her cap-strings 
 impatiently. " What does such a child know of love ? 
 Do not talk to me of that, Bernardi ; at that age one has 
 no judgment, and even if " 
 
 " And even if " he repeated ; " dear Mrs. von Rate- 
 now, and even if ? " 
 
 " Well, she will forget you, Bernardi ! Oh, no, no," 
 she continued, " do not be foolish ! I believe that you 
 are in love with the girl, she is a pretty little thing, but 
 you will not die of it. I must beg you in all serious- 
 ness, my dear Lieutenant Bernardi, to look upon this
 
 A Poor Girl. 103 
 
 conversation as ended. It is an impossibility, and 
 neither your parents nor Elsa's father, neither I nor my 
 son could be pleased. I cannot speak prettily to you 
 of great honor and so on ; you know I consider you a 
 charming man, Bernardi, and a man of honor; do not 
 make the child unhappy ! I mean well with you and 
 with her." 
 
 " I am breaking no promise to Miss von Hegebach ; 
 far be it from me to make her unhappy. Accept my 
 thanks, madam." 
 
 He bowed formally and turned toward the door. 
 
 " Wait, Bernardi, I cannot let you go thus ! " cried 
 Mrs. von Ratenow ; and her diamonds sparkled like 
 coals of fire as she turned quickly. " First promise 
 that you will see the child no more." 
 
 " I will leave the city as soon as possible, madam." 
 
 " Thank you, dear Bernardi." 
 
 And as the door closed behind him she stood for 
 some time on the same spot, her head bowed. Then 
 she drew her hand across her forehead, as though to 
 banish an unpleasant thought. 
 
 " Pardon, gentlemen," she said, a few minutes later, 
 in the card-room, " I am again at your disposal. Eh, 
 are we winners, Councillor ? " 
 
 And evening deepened into night, they had danced 
 together once more. He had been very gay, Lieutenant 
 Bernardi, thought the young ladies ; the gentlemen de- 
 clared that he had taken more champagne than was 
 necessary. He had pocketed a bow of ribbon which
 
 J04 A Poor Girl. 
 
 floated to his feet as Elsa danced past ; he had pressed 
 the girl's trembling hand once more, and then he had 
 left with his courtliest bow, without once looking into 
 the moist longing eyes, and outside on the street he had 
 taken Lieutenant von Rost's arm. 
 
 " Why, you are not going home already ? " he de- 
 clared coldly. And then all the bachelors had repaired 
 to their club. 
 
 " Hey, what is the matter ? " Dolling asked Lieuten- 
 ant von Rost, and pointed to Bernardi, who was talking 
 loudly to an older comrade, as though to drown an 
 inner voice. 
 
 " Oh," replied Von Rost, " he is at the crisis, he will 
 get over it soon." 
 
 " Ah, auntie, do not go to sleep yet," begged Elsa. 
 She had put on a wrapper, and sat on the edge of the 
 old lady's bed. 
 
 "My darling, open your heart to me," said the 
 sentimental old lady with the childlike nature. 
 
 " I love him so dearly ! " whispered the fresh girlish 
 lips. Then she said nothing more, the two only silently 
 pressed each other's hands.
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE day after such an entertainment is the same in 
 every house : the ladies look tired out, the gentlemen 
 have headaches, the rooms are still disordered, the ser- 
 vants sleepy but worst of all is breakfast. 
 
 It was almost twelve o'clock when the household 
 assembled in the dining-room for this meal. Mrs. 
 Ratenow was sternly critical, and evidently not in the 
 best temper. Frieda yawned frequently, and Aunt 
 Lott revelled in recollections of the preceding evening, 
 and once more described each toilet accurately. 
 
 "Where is Elsa ?" Moritz asked at length. He had 
 sat there silently, eating and drinking up to this time. 
 
 " She is coming immediately," said Aunt Lott. " She 
 was not quite ready ; she wishes to go to her father, he 
 is not well." 
 
 " I believe it," said old Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 
 " Did not the child look charming, cousin ? " asked 
 Aunt Lott. 
 
 " Oh, yes," was the cool reply. "But when are the 
 lessons to begin ? "
 
 106 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Not for the present," declared Moritz calmly. " I 
 intend postponing them until Raster. And I wished to 
 propose to you, Aunt Lott, that you change your plan 
 this year, and pass your prescribed eight weeks in 
 Z now, and take Elsa with you." 
 
 Aunt Lott's good old face suddenly grew deathly 
 pale. " Go away now ?" she stammered, "when Elsa 
 is so happy pray, Moritz 
 
 " That does not suit me at all," declared Frieda ; 
 " I prefer that the children should at least learn to sit 
 still." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Frieda ! " cried Aunt Lott, more tragically 
 than ever. " Offer any reason. If the child goes away 
 now, a happiness will be murdered ! " 
 
 The young wife laughed merrily. " Aunt, you de- 
 serve, while still alive, to have a monument erected 
 to you under a weeping willow surrounded by roses." 
 
 " I should be very sorry, cousin," cried Mrs. von 
 Ratenow, raising her voice, " were you to assist an 
 affair which we are using all our efforts to prevent." 
 
 The old lady's face had paled visibly. " I have not 
 assisted, dear Ratenow," said she gravely and decidedly. 
 " In such an affair no one can ; it is a wonder sent by 
 God. It comes 
 
 " It comes," Frieda interrupted her, still laughing 
 
 " It comes like perfume on the breeze ; 
 It comes as softly as at night. 
 From darkest clouds shines the moon's calm light ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure," said Mrs. von Ratenow, " that
 
 A Poor Girl. 107 
 
 is very pretty to write in an album, but this is some- 
 thing different. Do not excite yourself, she will be 
 sensible." 
 
 " How many girls' lives have been ruined by these 
 words," murmured Aunt Lott. 
 
 " This is really no laughing matter, Frieda." The old 
 lady's eyes rested reproachfully on the laughing, beau- 
 tiful face of her daughter-in-law. 
 
 The young lady was about to open her mouth to 
 reply, when the folds of the portieres parted and Elsa 
 entered. Her whole manner seemed changed, her 
 radiant brown eyes and her rosy cheeks. Her " Good 
 morning " sounded so fresh and gay, it seemed as if a 
 happy sunbeam entered the room. 
 
 " Your father is not well ? " asked Aunt Ratenow 
 pleasantly. 
 
 " Unfortunately no, dear aunt. I am going there 
 immediately after breakfast." 
 
 " It is thawing," said Moritz ; "put on thick boots." 
 
 " And when you return, Elsa, come to my room," 
 added Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 
 " A note from Lieutenant Bernardi." The servant 
 came up to Moritz and handed him a note. 
 
 Aunt Lott suddenly felt her hand seized by a trem- 
 bling little hand. Moritz read the note, his face wore a 
 strange expression ; he read it through once, then said, 
 without looking up, " Lieutenant Bernardi presents his 
 best compliments and regrets that he cannot come 
 personally to say farewell, but unfortunately his time is
 
 io8 A Poor Girl. 
 
 limited. This evening he leaves at six o'clock for 
 
 H where he has received the post of command of a 
 
 comrade who has been taken ill. He begs that his violin 
 and music may be given to the messenger, and hopes that 
 the ladies are well after yesterday's dissipation, and 
 that they will keep him in friendly remembrance." 
 
 " Get the violin from the drawing-room," commanded 
 Moritz. Then he took a visiting-card from his note- 
 book, wrote a few words in pencil,'put it in an envelope 
 and handed it to the servant. " Our best regards to 
 Lieutenant Bernardi." 
 
 The two brown eyes gazed at the little violin-case as 
 if bewitched, as it vanished behind the portieres. All was 
 so still in the room that one could hear only the rattling 
 of the knife and fork which Mrs. von Ratenow laid on 
 her plate and picked up again. There is an old saying 
 that at such times an angel flies through the room, but 
 this time it was an angel of death who blighted a beau- 
 tiful flower as yet scarcely opened, which had just 
 begun to bloom so happily in a young human heart. 
 
 At last Moritz resolved to speak. He compelled him- 
 self to look at the young, deathly-pale face. 
 
 " Well, Elsa, shall we go to the city ? Shall we pur- 
 chase the children's school-books ? " Involuntarily he 
 pushed his hand across the table. 
 
 "Well, we have sat long enough, children." Mrs. 
 von Ratenow rose and Elsa left the room ; she wished 
 to get her things, she said dully. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, the poor child!" said Aunt Lott,
 
 A Poor Girl. 109 
 
 bursting into tears. " She loves him, they love each 
 other." 
 
 " Bernardi is a sensible man," declared Mrs. von 
 Ratenow. " Do not cry, Lott," she continued ; " I have 
 long known that it must come so, but an old woman 
 like me has learned by experience that such things can 
 be survived now it is over." 
 
 " Good morning," cried Frieda. " I will go and 
 dress. What a pity that Bernardi is going away ! 
 What will become of our lovely musical evenings ? " 
 She disappeared into the adjoining room. Moritz 
 heard her singing and talking carelessly to her little son. 
 
 " Moritz," said Mrs. von Ratenow, " Thomas, the 
 jeweller, has a little enamel bracelet in his show window. 
 Elsa admired it so greatly a few days ago ; buy it, and I 
 will return you the money a few days later. Well, good 
 morning." 
 
 " Pray go upstairs, Aunt Lott, and look after the 
 girl," Moritz begged, in nervous haste. 
 
 " Is all over, then ? " asked the weeping little lady 
 " all ? " 
 
 " But, dear little auntie, it could not be otherwise." 
 
 She turned away and dried her eyes, then she slowly 
 ascended the stairs. 
 
 Elsa sat at the window and looked out into the gar- 
 den ; the snow had melted from the trees, and the 
 branches, black and wet, tossed in the wind. The sky 
 was overcast, a fine mist was rising and obliterating the 
 landscape. Aunt Lott busied herself with the stove ;
 
 no A Poor Girl. 
 
 the child must not see that she wept, and she picked 
 up the dusting-cloth and wiped the dazzlingly polished 
 furniture on which not a speck of dust lay ; she wished 
 to say something but she did not know what. 
 
 The door of the young girl's bedroom stood ajar ; in 
 her embarrassment, the old lady went in there. There 
 stood the bed with its dainty white hangings, the little 
 crucifix of mother-of-pearl which she had brought with 
 her from school hung at the head ; in the corner of the 
 room, near the stove, was the doll-house with all the 
 pretty trifles of her childhood, and on the table, under 
 the mirror, carefully preserved in fresh water, the half- 
 withered bouquet of violets. The clock ticked in the 
 adjoining room, except for that there was utter silence. 
 Then a door opened and Moritz's voice was heard in 
 the next room, as softly as though he were speaking to 
 a child, " Elsa ! Elsa ! How you look ! What is the 
 matter ? " 
 
 " With me ? Nothing at all, Moritz." 
 " You are our good sensible girl, Elsa." 
 She started up from her chair. " Say nothing ! Do 
 not speak to me, Uncle Moritz," she cried, and walked 
 past Aunt Lott, who had returned to the sitting-room, 
 and stretched out both hands to her, but she entered 
 her room and closed the door behind her. 
 
 He turned to the window. " How sorry I am, Aunt 
 Lott ! There she goes," he remarked after a while; 
 " she has on her coat and hat. I should not have let 
 her go alone. Where can she be going, Aunt Lott ?
 
 A Poor Girl. in 
 
 She has turned off towards the left, through the 
 garden." 
 
 " That is the path she always takes to the church- 
 yard, Moritz ; it is nearer, you know ; she passes the 
 little chapel." 
 
 In fact she was going there. At the moment she 
 had no will of her own. The snow was very soft and 
 walking difficult. All at once she was so tired, so fear- 
 fully tired. Not far from the entrance of the church- 
 yard she saw Annie Cramm coming towards her. The 
 young lady had her skates over her arm, and seemed in 
 great haste as she came along the path in her elegant 
 brown skating costume. 
 
 " Good morning, Elsa ; how are you ? " She gazed 
 keenly from beneath her veil at the girl's pale face. 
 
 "Thank you, Annie ; very well," was the reply. 
 
 " Are you going to the churchyard ? Good gracious, 
 what elegiac thoughts so early in the morning, after 
 such a gay evening ! " 
 
 Elsa merely nodded. 
 
 " I will come with you to the gate. Elsa, if you will 
 permit. You surely know that you have become quite 
 famous over night," said she as they walked on. " Papa 
 came home from the club, and only think, he told it as 
 the greatest news I laughed myself almost sick over 
 
 it that Bernardi has exchanged with Lieutenant P 
 
 because he received the mitten from your aunt or you. 
 I do not know which. I said at once that it was 
 nonsense Bernardi ! Well, you know, Elsa, and do
 
 112 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 not be vexed with me, he cannot possibly marry a poor 
 girl." 
 
 At this moment the two brown eyes looked at the 
 speaker with such an expression of hopeless misery that 
 the girl paused in alarm and changed her skates from 
 her left to her right hand. 
 
 "Well, good-by, Elsa," said she finally. "Perhaps 
 I will come to see you this afternoon. Give my love 
 to Mrs. von Ratenow." 
 
 Now Elsa stood at the grave and stared at it, all was 
 so cold and silent ; it was only a grave dead like that 
 which lay beneath it ; not a soul was in the church-yard, 
 only a pert little robin redbreast sat there and stared 
 at her with round curious eyes. She had never felt the 
 signification of this grave so fearfully and bitterly as at 
 this hour ; the religious mood, which usually was hers 
 when she came here, would not come to-day. "Why
 
 A Poor Girl. 113 
 
 am I alive, why was I not buried with her ? " she 
 thought. 
 
 " You will take cold here, Miss," said the old sexton, 
 who, his hands in his pockets, came slowly along in his 
 heavy boots. " There is nothing to see now, Miss ; but 
 in the spring it will be pretty here ; then the blue 
 crocuses which you planted will come up." 
 
 She turned away and walked to the city. Her old 
 father was there and he was sick ; she had wholly 
 forgotten it in the last few hours, these dreadful 
 hours. On the street she met Lieutenant Rost ; he 
 started when he saw her, she was so pale and bowed in 
 such an absent-minded way. For a moment he stood 
 and looked after the slender, girlish form, then, whist- 
 ling softly, he walked on. He always whistled when 
 anything affected him painfully. 
 
 " I am glad you have come, dear Elsa ! Oh, your 
 papa, your papa ! " Susan whispered to the young girl 
 down in the hall. " There has been no living in the 
 house with him since yesterday when the messenger 
 brought the great letter, and a short time ago the 
 Bennewitzer announced himself, and now he is per- 
 fectly furious." 
 
 Elsa entered the old man's room. He sat in his arm- 
 chair by the window, his pipe lay on the table, and his 
 hands held a crumpled letter. 
 
 "You came at last, Elsa. I might be sick and die 
 here ; and yet it was on your account that I had the 
 vexation of this accursed affair." 
 8
 
 H4 -A Poor Girl. 
 
 She had no word of reply to his unjust reproof. " I 
 will stay with you, papa, if you wish," said she after a 
 pause. 
 
 " No; I do not wish it at all, you know that that cannot 
 be. But I must speak with you ; you must know that 
 there is no longer any justice ; that yesterday I learned 
 that the suit had been decided against me, because 
 just because it was mine. If the Bennewitzer were I 
 and I he, the bread would, of course, not fall down on 
 the buttered side." 
 
 Elsa was silent ; her head ached, and she was so in- 
 different as to what life now had before her. 
 
 " But may the devil take me if I will let matters go 
 thus. I shall proceed if I must carry the suit to the 
 highest court of the empire and starve to do it. And 
 what do you think," he continued, striking the table 
 with his clenched fist, "here this man who has not an 
 iota more than I, once more offers me alms and tells 
 me that he will come here to-day to see me ! Would 
 you have considered that possible ? He shall come. 
 Susan shall let him in, I am just in the right mood." 
 
 Ah, how terribly hopeless and desolate this life was, 
 this world, where everything depends upon wealth, 
 where even the noblest and purest feeling of the human 
 heart must yield to contemptible interests. The girl 
 felt a loathing of wealth, of the power of money ; her 
 faith, her love, her ideals were trodden in the dust, and 
 she must live. She clasped her forehead with both 
 hands when the old man began to scold again.
 
 A Poor Girl. > 115 
 
 " Papa, pray stop ! " she begged. " It is all of no 
 matter I need nothing." 
 
 They both were silent. Elsa stood by the stove and 
 gazed about the dingy, smoky room ; outside, the melt- 
 ing snow dripped monotonously from the eaves, and 
 occasionally some noise in the street was heard. Now 
 steps, the house door was opened, and the steps came 
 up the stairs. She left the room. 
 
 " Stay down-stairs, Mr. von Hegebach," she asked 
 softly, leaning over the banisters. 
 
 "Why ? I must speak with my cousin." 
 
 " Papa is so excited," was the reply. 
 
 " You look pale, Miss von Hegebach ; Avill it disturb 
 you if I " 
 
 " Papa is ill, I think," Elsa interposed. 
 
 " May I speak with you then, Mademoiselle ?' 
 
 " With me ? Oh, yes ; but " 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do not know 
 
 Susan came and opened the door. " It is in good 
 order, and not too cold, Elsa." 
 
 It was a small room in which they now stood; in the 
 back part stood the old woman's store of apples, a chest 
 gayly painted with flowers, a wardrobe, two spinning- 
 wheels and a reel, while the whole room was fragrant 
 with the fruit. The last rays of the setting sun shone 
 through the little window and fell upon the aristocratic 
 face of the Bennewitzer Hegebach. 
 
 " I come to speak once more with your papa; he is
 
 n6 A Poor Girl. 
 
 only putting himself to useless exertion and expense, 
 my dear young lady ; be assured that he will obtain 
 nothing by a new suit, and that I deeply pity him ; 
 
 " I have not the slightest influence over papa, Mr. von 
 Hegebach," answered Elsa. 
 
 " I am sorry for that. But perhaps you can tell him 
 that I am still ready to fulfil my former proposition." 
 
 " Papa will accept no money," was the cold reply. 
 
 "But why do you take that view of the matter? " he 
 asked, also becoming cooler. u I merely offer him the 
 interest of a capital which I cannot take out of the 
 estate." 
 
 " I know nothing about it, sir," was the answer. 
 
 " But you should represent my intentions to your 
 father in his and in your interests, my dear cousin." 
 
 " In papa's interests ? He wishes nothing for him- 
 self. And I I thank you very much." 
 
 " So speak only girls of your age, who do not yet 
 know what it is to " 
 
 " To have no money, to be poor ? " the young girl 
 interrupted him, and all the bitterness of her heart came 
 from the quivering lips. " I know, Mr. von Hegebach, 
 one learns very soon. If God were just, he would 
 create no poor girls, or he would at least let them come 
 into the world heartless and unfeeling." 
 
 Involuntarily he drew back and stared at the little 
 mouth drawn with pain which had- spoken these 
 words. 
 
 " Whence comes this bitterness ? " he asked, at length.
 
 A Poor Girl. 117 
 
 " Other girls of your age, at worst, weep when a dis- 
 appointment befalls them." 
 
 "I have no reason to weep," she replied shortly. 
 
 " I do not like to go thus, Elsa von Hegebach," he 
 began after a pause ; " it seems to me that I do wrong 
 to leave you in this bitter frame of mind. At least 
 promise me that you will consider what I said before; it 
 is no alms, it is your right that is offered to you." 
 
 " I do not believe that papa " 
 
 " But you yourself ! " 
 
 "I? Oh, I have passed my governess's examinations." 
 It was the old tune again. It sounded almost scornful. 
 
 "You have your father's obstinacy," he said, taking 
 his hat. " Where must I turn to find some one with 
 some influence over you ? " 
 
 " I fear you would seek in vain for such a person, 
 Mr. von Hegebach." 
 
 "Good-by, Miss von Hegebach." She inclined her 
 head slightly, and he left the house. 
 
 When the girl was alone, she leaned her head against 
 the white-washed wall ; something like a groan was 
 heard in the little room, and the slender form trembled 
 violently. 
 
 " Who was that ? " asked the old man irritably, when 
 she returned to him. 
 
 " The Bennewitzer, papa." 
 
 " And you would not allow him to see me ? " 
 
 " I told him that you were not well ; he wished to 
 offer you the income again."
 
 n8 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Let him go to the " burst out the old man ; " it 
 is the surest proof that he is on an insecure footing." 
 
 " Shall I stay with you, papa ? Will you have some 
 tea ? " she asked. 
 
 " No ! I am going to bed. I do not feel quite 
 well." 
 
 " Let me stay here ! " She had come quite near 
 him in the darkness ; now her hands rested upon his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Elsa ? Why do you wish 
 to stay here ?" It sounded almost gentle. 
 
 "Sometimes I feel that I belong with you, papa." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! But then I should not be a beggar, 
 child." 
 
 " Do I not even then, papa ? " 
 
 She received no answer. " Listen, Elsa," he said at 
 length, " the Bennewitzer has neither chick nor child, 
 and if there were any justice you should inherit all that 
 fortune some day. But just because you are a girl 
 the contemptible will expressly states that girls are 
 positively excluded from inheriting." 
 
 Suddenly she knelt beside him and laid her head on 
 his hand. 
 
 " And," he continued, " it torments me every day 
 that you were not a boy ; not for my sake, no, for yours. 
 Your mother cried out in alarm when they told her that 
 you were a girl; we had thought you must positively be 
 a boy. Her last words were, ' Oh, a girl ! A poor little 
 girl ! ' Ah, well, so it is ; you must get along as best
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 119 
 
 you can, child. But promise me one thing when I am 
 dead I have indeed done nothing to make you love me 
 much, every one else has done more for you, the Rate- 
 now and Moritz ; but one cannot choose one's father 
 in this world, Elsa." 
 
 " No, papa, and I cannot 
 help it that I am a poor girl," 
 said she, childishly. And two large 
 tears rolled down on to the old 
 man's hand. 
 
 " Do not cry, child, pray do not 
 cry!" He was nervous again. "And 
 you must go, Elsa; it is dark al- 
 ready." 
 
 She rose and looked for hat and 
 cloak. " Sleep well, papa. I will 
 come again when I have time. I 
 begin my lessons to-morrow." 
 She walked down the tlark dirty street ; usually she 
 had always been afraid at this time of the evening, to- 
 day she did not think of it. The wind had risen and 
 howled through the long alley, and the fine rain cooled 
 her cheeks and eyes.
 
 i2o A Poer Girl. 
 
 She walked as slowly as though it were a May even- 
 ing. A carriage suddenly turned through the castle 
 gate and drove past her at a rapid pace ; it was the 
 Bennewitzer's carriage. He must have paid Aunt Rate- 
 now a visit, perhaps to find in her an ally. 
 
 " I wish that I could die," she thought. She must 
 return to the house, and yet she would prefer to run 
 away as far as her feet could carry her. 
 
 " Miss von Hegebach, you are to go at once to the 
 mistress," said the servant in the vestibule. She gave 
 him her hat and cloak, and went directly. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow sat on the sofa ; a decanter and 
 two glasses stood on the table, and the fragrance of 
 a fine cigar still scented the air. " How is your 
 father?" she asked, and motioned to the girl to be 
 seated. 
 
 " I thank you, he is not well, aunt." 
 
 " You look pale, that is from dancing, Elsa." 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 " Listen, there comes the little mouse," said the 
 old lady, smiling at the pretty child who crossed the 
 room with an expression of solemn importance and 
 went up to Elsa. " From grandmama, auntie," she 
 whispered, and laid something heavy in the young 
 girl's lap, then quickly ran back to her hiding-place. 
 It was a pretty enamel bracelet which Elsa held in her 
 hand. 
 
 "You are so good, dear aunt," said she, gazing 
 at her with ber beautiful brown eyes. They were no
 
 A Poor Girl. 121 
 
 longer child's eyes since this morning, and she 
 kissed the offered hand. " I will wear it in remem- 
 brance of you." 
 
 " I was about to ask you to do so, Elsa. And now 
 go the Bennewitzer left his regards for you." 
 
 Having reached her room, she hastily put away the 
 bracelet. She wished no pity, she could not endure it, 
 she thought. As though an ornament could cure her 
 heartache and bitter longing. She would gladly have 
 kept her room, but then they would think she was 
 weeping for him, and she would not shed a tear, not 
 one. 
 
 But it could not be thus. Suddenly she inhaled a 
 sweet perfume, a perfume which only yesterday had al- 
 most intoxicated her. There stood the violets, his vio- 
 lets, and it seemed as though they spoke with his voice, 
 " Happiness ! What is happiness if not this moment ? " 
 Suddenly she sobbed loudly ; it sounded like a cry of 
 pain, and the next moment the room door opened and 
 Aunt Lott held the quivering girl in her arms. 
 
 Aunt Lott knew all ; she might also see that her 
 heart was broken, quite broken.
 
 IX. 
 
 ABOUT two weeks had passed, when one morning 
 Aunt Lott went down-stairs and asked for Moritz. The 
 servant told her that he was with his wife, so the old 
 lady crossed Frieda's blue drawing-room and asked, 
 pausing behind the portieres, " Do I disturb you, 
 children ? " 
 
 " Come in, Aunt Lott ! " cried Moritz. 
 
 Frieda sat at the writing-desk. " One moment, aunt," 
 said she, and once more glanced over the sheet of note 
 paper adorned with her crest. 
 
 " MY DEAREST LILI: 
 
 " Only a few words in the greatest haste so that you may be 
 au fait as regards my ball costume for Berlin, as we will soon be 
 together. I have ordered of Gerson a white satin gown embroid- 
 ered in silver, the corsage of drap <T argent, and shall wear my dia- 
 monds with it instead of flowers. I think it will have quite a 
 distinguished look. Mamma and Moritz insist upon taking with 
 them Elsa, who, of late, has been more than tiresome, a cause de 
 MonsieurBernardi. Mamma has ordered a pink silk gown for her. 
 I have had more than enough of this Elizabeth worship, and mean 
 to express my opinion to Moritz thoroughly. I earnestly beg you, 
 Lili, never to take into your house a young girl who has certain 
 family rights, it is more than annoying ; especially when the master
 
 A Poor Girl. 123 
 
 of the house feels under as great obligations to play the fatherly 
 protector and knight as Moritz. My patience will not last much 
 longer. Give my love to father and mother. Auf Wiedersehen. 
 
 " Your Sister, FRIEDA. 
 
 " P. S. The Bennewitzer comes remarkably often now. I do not 
 trust my mother-in-law on this subject ; she says on Elsa's father's 
 account. There is an old proverb but I will not write it down 
 here. 
 
 " Now, auntie, what is it ? " she asked, after sealing 
 and addressing the letter. And she went to a charming 
 little cabinet, drew out different drawers, and prepared 
 to inspect her jewels. She wore a pale-blue ntglig^ and 
 upon her luxuriant black hair rested a lace rosette with 
 blue ribbons. 
 
 " Oh, dear," began Aunt Lott, turning to Moritz, who 
 sat motionless beside the fire, in his rough suit and 
 heavy boots, just as he had come from the fields. " Oh, 
 dear, Moritz, I am so worried about Elsa she does not 
 complain, she says nothing, but she does not sleep at 
 all, she eats nothing, and grows so thin. Will you not 
 send the doctor upstairs when he comes ? I am afraid 
 she will torment herself sick about this Bernardi." 
 
 " Is the comedy not at an end yet ? " asked the 
 young wife. What will you have ? Elsa seems highly 
 satisfied. That she is a little bit shy about going out 
 is natural ; she was the talk of the town for a week." 
 
 " Yes, she is very reserved, Frieda," said the old lady, 
 nodding gravely, " but - ''
 
 124 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Well, you do all you can to console her," continued 
 Frieda irritably, and replaced a costly gem in its box 
 somewhat roughly. " No one asks whether I am suited 
 now, everything is Elsa. Mamma does so, and the chil- 
 dren and Moritz. I may not even express a wish, and 
 after this I shall not say another word at the table." 
 
 Aunt Lott looked fairly in alarm at Moritz, who 
 leaned back in his chair so indifferently. 
 
 " Auntie, Frieda knows that it is very becoming to 
 her to pout a little. But you must not take this bad 
 temper with us to Berlin, child, or else 
 
 " If you insist upon taking Elsa with you, I shall stay 
 here with my bad temper," she interrupted. 
 
 " You must arrange that with mother," said he calmly ; 
 "she wishes that Elsa should accompany us." 
 
 " I cannot take her on account of the children," per- 
 sisted his wife. " I really do not see why I should have 
 a governess if I cannot once leave home in peace." 
 
 " Up to this time, the old nurse has always been suf- 
 ficient to take charge of them. But as you will, Frieda. 
 I have never quarrelled with you when it pleased you 
 to put on your defiant little mood, you know it. To-day 
 is the last day in which Elsa shall act as governess. I 
 will take steps this very hour to engage another lady." 
 
 Frieda was silent, and closed one drawer after another 
 very slowly. 
 
 " I only beg you to be considerate, Frieda," he began 
 again, " do not let the girl suspect the cause of this ar- 
 rangement, The rest will take care of itself,"
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 125 
 
 He had risen, took cap and riding whip from the 
 nearest chair, and left the room. In the same moment 
 the young wife buried her face in her hands and burst 
 into tears. 
 
 '\ 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Lott, I 
 am so very unhappy ! " 
 The good old lady 
 did not know what to 
 make of this scene. 
 " For Heaven's sake, 
 Frieda, what is the 
 matter with you ? " 
 " He no longer loves me ! " sobbed the beautiful 
 woman, and threw herself into an arm-chair. " I know 
 it too well, he loves me no longer ! "
 
 126 A Poo, Girl. 
 
 " Good heavens, you surely are not jeal ? " The 
 
 frightened spinster could not utter the whole word. 
 
 " And now he will go to mamma to mamma, who 
 always treats me like a silly child ! " 
 
 Suddenly she started up ; the blue curtains were 
 parted, and Mrs. von Ratenow, in all her stateliness, 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Frieda, I just heard from Moritz that you 
 are not feeling quite well," she began, seating herself 
 beside the weeping young woman. 
 
 Frieda stammered something about a headache. 
 
 " Of course ! " The old lady took her hand. " The 
 noise of the children all day long is too much for you. 
 I know that nerves are the fashion nowadays. But I 
 will make you a proposition : Send the little girls to 
 school ; the house will be delightfully quiet then, my 
 little daughter, and you need no longer worry yourself 
 with a governess, eh ? " 
 
 The young wife started up from her reclining posi- 
 tion, but could not answer. 
 
 " Elsa Hegebach shall remain here as my companion, 
 dear child," continued the old lady, raising her voice ; 
 " and as such I will know how to protect her from all 
 insult, Frieda ! " 
 
 Frieda had paled slightly. " I did not mean it so," 
 said she, beginning to cry again. 
 
 " Where is Elsa ? " asked her mother-in-law. 
 
 " In the nursery ; she is giving the children an arith- 
 metic lesson," was the reply in a low tone.
 
 A Poor Girl. 127 
 
 " I hope to see you at tea this evening," continued 
 Mrs. von Ratenow. " Pray be punctual, Aunt Lott. 
 The Bennewitzer is coming." 
 
 " The third time in two weeks," remarked Frieda, 
 rising. " He never used to come, or at least very 
 seldom." 
 
 " Certainly. For years he had an invalid wife, and 
 until recently he has been in deep mourning. Shall 
 I have the pleasure of seeing you at tea this evening ? " 
 she asked once more. 
 
 " I am very sorry, dear mamma, we are invited to 
 tea at Mrs. von Z "s." 
 
 "Elsatoo?" 
 
 " Elsa was invited, but declined." 
 
 ''Then I trust she will accept my invitation." And 
 the old lady nodded to her daughter-in-law most pleas- 
 antly. " Good morning, my dear child ; send the chil- 
 dren to me for a little while, if you like." 
 
 " Do you see, auntie, mamma is always like that," 
 complained Frieda. " Any one will admit that I am 
 right. If Elsa undertakes to educate the children she 
 should do it entirely. I am the last person to demand 
 anything exorbitant of her. If I lose my patience it is 
 no wonder. I fancy the children will at last learn some- 
 thing ; and Moritz comes and says : ' Elsa, we are going 
 to the subscription ball in Berlin ; mother will give you 
 a dress.' How are the lessons to continue in earnest?" 
 
 " I think Elsa did not wish to accept your offer, 
 Frieda." The anxious old lady defended her protigt.
 
 iz8 A Poor Girl. 
 
 But she was forced to listen to a long lament. Frieda 
 considered her rights so deeply infringed upon she 
 even fulfilled her threat, and did not utter a syllable at 
 dinner. 
 
 Thus a storm which had long threatened Moritz's 
 domestic happiness burst ; the atmosphere of the house 
 was oppressive despite the clear, frosty weather outside. 
 Elsa did not notice it ; she had a little girl on either 
 side, and was sufficiently occupied in answering the 
 children's questions. At first Moritz had not wished 
 the children to come to the dinner-table, but Elsa had 
 thought it best that they should, so they were per- 
 mitted to their great delight. 
 
 She did, indeed, look miserable, and she was very 
 quiet ; this was the result of her combat with a proud, 
 injured heart, which incessantly asked, " Why ? " This 
 was the result of the sleepless nights and tormenting 
 longing for the lost golden days. She seemed to her- 
 self a pariah among the others, hopeless and repulsive, 
 and only because she was poor ! Her brown eyes 
 might not even weep, like those of the poor girl in the 
 song. But still there was much in the world that made 
 life desirable ; hundreds and hundreds had shared her 
 fate, and had yet become calm and content through 
 hard work without happiness. But the path of all 
 these had gone through thorns and thistles ; a young, 
 wounded heart, thirsting for happiness, could not find 
 forgetfulness in a few days ; years, long years, were 
 required for that.
 
 A Poor Girl. 129 
 
 In the evening old Mrs. von Ratenow's room was the 
 coseyest in the whole house ; the tea-kettle sang and 
 hummed in every key ; the heavy curtains were drawn 
 before the windows, keeping out every draught ; the 
 lamp-light was reflected in the shining silver and glass 
 on the snow-white damask table-cloth ; and Aunt Lott 
 and the owner sat on the sofa, the latter her white 
 knitting in her hand. Elsa, busy with some dainty 
 work, sat near the alcohol lamp, above which hung the 
 kettle ; she wore a dark house-gown and a delicately 
 embroidered apron. The Bennewitzer was expected. 
 
 These hours with the old gentleman were fairly 
 horrible to Elsa ; her feelings were too varied. Since 
 her father had recently spoken his first pleasant words 
 to her, her childish heart had gone out in passionate 
 love to the surly man. She knew that he had not 
 treated his cousin well, but he had said that he did it 
 for her sake, and in the eyes of the girl that excused 
 everything, his moods, his obstinacy, the slight interest 
 in herself. He had long since again become unfriendly 
 as ever to her, but she had had one glance into his 
 embittered nature ; now no word was too harsh, no 
 mood too gloomy for her ; the dross of grief and soli- 
 tude merely covered the golden heart of the old man ; 
 he was her father, the only being upon whom she had a 
 claim, a sacred right. 
 
 The Bennewitzer's presence therefore was painful to 
 her. Up to this time he had never spoken in the castle 
 of his visit to her father ; but, nevertheless, she knew 
 9
 
 130 A Poor Girl. 
 
 what he thought of him, and that pained her unspeak- 
 ably. Besides Aunt Ratenow praised the Bennewitzer 
 so uncommonly. Aunt Ratenow had such pronounced 
 likes and dislikes, and one must oppose nothing to 
 these, for the old lady could then raise her voice so 
 loudly. "Good or bad, there is nothing between," she 
 often remarked. There was no medium for her, it was 
 foreign to her whole character. Bernardi's name never 
 passed her lips ; the affair was ended once for all, the 
 less it was discussed the better. A wound must bleed, 
 she thought, but that could happen secretly without 
 attracting notice. 
 
 " Elsa," she began in her deep voice she pushed 
 back her spectacles and let the paper fall " you may 
 read aloud to me, my eyes grow daily worse. I do not 
 know, Lottie, how you have preserved yours with your 
 eternal reading. It is a true comfort to me that Moritz 
 has yielded to my request, and taken the instruction of 
 the children from you, Elsa. I am really able neither 
 to read the paper in the morning nor to write a letter 
 except in a wretched scrawl." 
 
 Elsa took the paper. " If I were only sure, dear aunt, 
 that Moritz and Frieda were not dissatisfied with me as 
 a teacher." 
 
 " Oh, that is what people always say when they wish 
 to be complimented," replied the old lady. " No, no, 
 it is not that ; I begged Moritz to do it. How do you 
 think a person fares when she cannot see well ? But 
 there comes the Bennewitzer ! " she interrupted herself.
 
 A Toor Girl. 131 
 
 A carriage rolled across the yard and stopped before 
 the door. Steps were heard in the hall, and Mrs. von 
 Ratenow rose with a certain solemnity. 
 
 " Good evening, my dear Hegebach ! " cried she, 
 shaking his hand vigorously. " I am glad that you come 
 to enliven three lonely women." 
 
 He kissed the offered hand politely, and bowed to 
 Aunt Lott and Elsa. To the latter he gave a white 
 paper parcel. 
 
 " The only one in the conservatory," he said courte- 
 ously. It was a magnificent Marshal Niel ; the beauti- 
 ful yellow flower nodded heavily on its graceful stem. 
 
 "Thank you very much, Mr. von Hegebach." 
 
 She placed the rose in a little vase, and busied herself 
 about the tea-table. 
 
 " Is there any news, dear Mr. Hegebach ? " asked 
 Mrs. von Ratenow ; and with that conversation was 
 started. Both knew all the countryside, and from that 
 they came to old times. 
 
 " Pardon, dear Hegebach, I am ten years older 
 than you ; just as old as your cousin, I know very well." 
 
 " No, you are mistaken, my dear madam," he declared, 
 very calmly. " At most you are but eight years older. 
 I was thirty-six when I married, and that was eighteen 
 years ago. Remember that my poor eldest boy was in 
 the third class at school." 
 
 " True ; how time passes, Hegebach ! " 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure. Elsa will be nineteen this 
 spring," said Aunt Lott.
 
 132 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Well, there are older people than we, Hegebach ; 
 you are really still a young man," said Mrs. von 
 Ratenow. 
 
 Aunt Lott glanced at him ; he was aristocratic, stately, 
 still handsome, but young? She had long ceased to 
 consider herself young, yet she was not many years 
 his senior. " Men always have the advantage of us," 
 thought she. 
 
 Elsa sat there quietly, her thoughts were quite dif- 
 ferent. What did she care about old, long-forgotten 
 stories ? All those lay so far behind her. A nervous 
 uneasiness took possession of her as was so often the 
 case. She would gladly have gone up to her little 
 room, seated herself at the window, and thought and 
 dreamed ; it was so very hard not to give way to her 
 sad, longing thoughts, but be forced to answer and 
 listen. 
 
 " How is your father ? " asked the Bennewitzer, and 
 leaned toward Elsa. 
 
 " Thank you, not very well I think," she replied. 
 
 " And not yet in a milder frame of mind ? " He 
 spoke softly and his dark eyes gazed into hers plead- 
 ingly. 
 
 She suddenly blushed. " Papa does not change his 
 views over night," said she roughly and loudly. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow's face darkened. " Elsa, please 
 pour tea." 
 
 The young girl rose, crossed the soft carpet noise- 
 lessly, and disappeared into the next room. Baron von
 
 A Poor Girl. 133 
 
 Hegebach's eyes followed her, he stroked his dark 
 beard slowly with his white, well-cared-for hand. Mrs. 
 von Ratenow spoke of something else, she apparently 
 wished to make him forget the rough answer. When 
 the young girl returned, they were chatting animatedly. 
 
 Baron von Hegebach was an excellent companion ; 
 he had travelled extensively, he knew a number of dis- 
 tinguished, famous people. He spoke of Lapland and 
 Lebanon, and he talked well. He had everywhere seen 
 the best ; he had raved over the Nile and sketched it ; 
 he had stood by the falls of Niagara. He was a man 
 who knew the pleasantest side of life. And there, in the 
 gloomy house, sat a solitary old man who did not even 
 have the money necessary for travelling expenses, that 
 he might visit a cure for the relief of his sufferings. 
 What his cousin had paid in Cairo for a single dagger 
 would have been sufficient for several weeks' stay in 
 Teplitz. 
 
 Hateful, angry thoughts were hidden behind Elsa's 
 white forehead. All in which she had formerly believed, 
 love, fidelity, nobility, were absurdities, long since out 
 of date. To-day but one thing conferred happiness, 
 power money, wealth. 
 
 " To our good friendship, dear little cousin ! " The 
 Bennewitzer raised his glass. She touched hers to it. 
 
 " Will you not look at me ? " said he gravely. 
 
 Again her face flushed crimson, she Avas vexed with 
 herself, but those eyes wore such a strange expression. 
 
 " Stay here, Elsa ! " cried Mrs, von Ratenow, as the
 
 134 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Bennewitzer drove away about eleven o'clock, not with- 
 out having received a promise that the ladies would 
 soon visit him at Bennewitz 
 
 Elsa returned and seated herself again. Aunt Lott 
 had already taken leave at the stroke of ten. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow looked vexed, but did not know 
 how to begin. " You have a strange way of treating the 
 Bennewitzer, dear child," said she, at length. " It is 
 absurd to lay up against him a suit which your father 
 was foolish enough to enter into ; you should at least be 
 neutral." 
 
 " I know that Baron von Hegebach is entirely in the 
 right, aunt," said Elsa, gazing directly at the old lady. 
 " I do not lay up anything against him, that would be 
 foolish." 
 
 " Very well ! But why are you so so repellent to 
 him ? " 
 
 " I beg pardon, aunt " she stammered. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow rose and gave her her hand. " I 
 do not know whether you are different from others 
 you are not usually one of those whom it is hard to 
 make understand. Good-night, Elsa ! " 
 
 The girl rushed upstairs to her room as if chased. 
 No, it was not possible, her aunt could not possibly 
 have meant what flashed through her mind at that 
 moment. But what else ? She laughed aloud, but it 
 was a scornful laugh, it sounded strangely even to her. 
 Then she stood before the mirror and gazed at her pale 
 face. Certainly it was absurd, only her excitement
 
 A Poor Girl. 135 
 
 could make her imagine such foolishness. No, aunt 
 had meant nothing ; it had been merely a common form 
 of speech, naturally. 
 
 "Aunt Lott," she then called softly. It seemed as 
 though she were afraid of her own thoughts, and she 
 went into the old lady's painfully neat bedroom. 
 
 "What is it, my darling ? " was the sleepy query. 
 
 " I feel so timid, aunt." 
 
 And Aunt Lott sat up in bed good-naturedly. 
 
 " This evening I was so reminded of your mother, 
 child," she began. " We always sat in cousin Ratenow's 
 room when your father came a-courting her. You re- 
 semble her so greatly, Elsa, and yet have a likeness to 
 the Bennewitzer and your father the voice and gesture 
 but the beard, you know, and then he always looked 
 at her in silence." 
 
 The girl stood motionless ; an inexplicable anxiety 
 contracted her throat. 
 
 " It is almost twenty years since then, and yet it 
 seems like to-day to me, Elsa," the old lady continued, 
 in her complaining tearful manner; " only that Aunt 
 Ratenow has grown much stouter and that my hair has 
 turned white. How vivid the past sometimes becomes! 
 Lieschen, your mother, always came to my bedside 
 then, and once, I remember very well, she said, " Lottie, 
 Lottie, I feel so timid." 
 
 " Aunt, pray stop I am frightened." The slender 
 girlish figure, which stood close beside the bed, shook 
 as with a nervous chill.
 
 136 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " You are not well, Elsa." 
 
 " No, I believe I am going to be ill, aunt." 
 
 " Poor child that is from your grieving." 
 
 " I do not grieve, aunt." 
 
 " I know very well, qhild, but one does it without 
 wishing. When the doctor comes to-morrow he shall 
 give you something to make you sleep; I have spoken 
 to Moritz already. Or do you think I do not notice 
 how late into the night you read ? I hear every page 
 turned. Good-night, my darling child, go to sleep. 
 Formerly, I could always sit up late, but now "
 
 X. 
 
 WEEKS had passed; it was spring. For a long time a 
 hateful east wind had blown, chilling to the bones those 
 whom the clear blue sky and golden sunlight enticed 
 out of doors, so that they shut themselves up in their 
 houses in disgust, and the flowers regretted that they 
 had ventured out so prematurely. But now a warm, 
 fragrant spring breeze blew, gray clouds chased each 
 other across the sky, and sunshine and rain came by 
 turns. The buds were bursting on all the bushes, in 
 the castle garden the lawn was blue with violets, and 
 in the church-yard blue crocuses bloomed on Elsa's 
 mother's grave. 
 
 She had just hung a wreath upon the cross which 
 bore the name of the dead ; to-day was the anniversary 
 of her mother's death, and was also her birthday, a 
 thorn in the girl's wreath of life, a dark spot which so 
 closely allied her existence to the dead. For a long 
 time she sat on the stone coping which surrounded the 
 grave, and her hands mechanically arranged the leaves 
 of the wreath, while her eyes gazed over all the crosses 
 and stones into space.
 
 138 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Her life had now become an eternal wordless conflict 
 with herself, with every one else; she no longer pos- 
 sessed any one in whom she could confide. All had 
 taken part against her, even Moritz. She felt it ; Moritz 
 had something against her, he avoided her, and Frieda 
 was so terribly heartless. 
 
 " She has never had a trouble in her life," said Aunt 
 Ratenow ; " she is a spoiled child, and one should not 
 pay much attention to them, as children can never 
 really insult grown people." 
 
 But Aunt Lott had suddenly gone to Z . One day 
 
 she had come out of Aunt Ratenow's room with tearful 
 eyes, and had packed her trunk. The stern cousin had 
 said that she thought it more practical this year for Lott 
 to spend the summer at home, so Lott was now passing 
 her prescribed eight weeks in the cloister. For what 
 Aunt Ratenow commanded must be done. 
 
 Frieda's sister Lili was visiting h'er. She was a little 
 brunette, not as pretty as her sister, but with such a 
 merry laugh, and she knew how to turn the whole house 
 topsy-turvy even better than Frieda. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow declared that she was a new-fash- 
 ioned feather-head, and it was well that she and Annie 
 Cramm were friends, they were quite suited to each 
 other. But in spite of her many social distractions, 
 Miss Lili always appeared at " dear, charming" Ma- 
 dame von Ratenow's tea-table, she was so fond of old 
 ladies and gentlemen, and she should never fall in love 
 with a young man. She preferred men in the fifties,
 
 A Poor Girl. 139 
 
 and how interesting for a young woman to have an old 
 husband ! It was very droll to hear her talk thus; and 
 against her will Mrs. von Ratenow must smile. 
 
 " But he must have a great deal of money, eh, Lili ? " 
 
 " Of course, dearest, best of aunts, either a great 
 deal of money, or he must at least be an Excellency, 
 general, or something similar." 
 
 And the Bennewitzer came so very often now, and 
 Aunt Ratenow was more charming than ever to him. 
 " Elsa, his is a fine character." And Frieda always had 
 a sweet smile for him, and Lili raised her long lashes so 
 slowly as she talked to him. There was a perfect race 
 when his elegant carriage rolled into the yard. Aunt 
 Ratenpw met him with great dignity in the hall. Frieda 
 and Lili stood on the stairs, and poor Mr. von Hegebach 
 was seriously embarrassed because he did not know 
 whether to enter Frieda's cosey boudoir or Aunt Rate- 
 now's sober room ; but in any case, let him turn where 
 he would, he drew the whole company after him. 
 
 And Elsa apparently stood without this circle, and 
 yet knew unmistakably that she became more and more 
 the central point. Again and again she tried to win 
 back every inch of ground forced from her, uncon- 
 sciously her eyes rested piteously upon her aunt's stern 
 face ; her heart started back in affright at the gaze of a 
 man's two dark eyes, as day by day she lost more and 
 more of her firm footing. 
 
 This morning, her birthday, a beautiful bouquet had 
 stood on the table for her in Aunt Ratenow's room, and
 
 140 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 the card attached bore the giver's name. A letter from 
 Aunt Lott, dear old Aunt Lott, was also there. Moritz 
 had pressed her hand and brought her a pretty portfolio 
 of Russia leather, and then the children had clung to 
 her joyously. Lili and Frieda also had appeared, the 
 latter with all sorts of ribbons, scarfs, and " such non- 
 
 sense," as Aunt Ratenow called it; and one pale-blue 
 sash the old lady had returned to her, with the remark 
 that that had probably only been given with the other 
 things by accident, and belonged to Frieda's toilet- 
 table, as the pins still sticking in it proved.
 
 A Poor Girl. 141 
 
 But Elsa was so weary, it was quite indifferent to her 
 if Frieda wished to pass off old things upon her; she 
 was only a poor girl, why should she not wear cast-off 
 sashes ? She had no money for these " sweet trifles of 
 life," as Moritz loved to call his beautiful wife's costly 
 frippery ; it was only natural in Frieda, she did not 
 mean unkindly. Ah, if they had demanded nothing 
 more of her ! 
 
 Aunt Ratenow had told her this morning of the day 
 of her birth, and how sad it had been, how since that 
 time her father had become a gloomy, lonely man; and 
 she had told him that the child would yet be a blessing 
 to him, a great blessing. 
 
 " And that is in your power, Elsa," she had added. 
 
 The young girl rose from her seat in the quiet ceme- 
 tery, the icy, horrible feeling had again come over her. 
 Hastily she walked along the path ; she did not see .how 
 brightly the sun shone, how its rays sparkled in the dew- 
 drops which clung to the tender young leaves ; every- 
 where was spring young, green, and the gay twitter 
 of birds ; a slender pale-green branch even rested over 
 the venerable top of the gateway tower. 
 
 Her cheeks were flushed feverishly when she entered 
 her father's room. She would turn to him ; he hated 
 the Bennewitzer ; he would permit her to seek refuge 
 with him, if The old man had both windows 
 opened wide, the newspapers lay on the table before 
 him, and near the cold pipe stood a half-emptied wine- 
 rlass.
 
 142 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Papa, are you not well ? " asked Elsa. 
 
 " Oh, yes, child ! Only my cough and lack of 
 breath now it is much better, you can shut the 
 window again. I can no longer bear excitement, and 
 to-day " He held out his hand, and for a moment 
 clasped the slender hand firmly in his. 
 
 " Draw the curtains together, the sun shines in here 
 so glaringly, Elsa ; and then perhaps it will please you 
 that little chest yonder your mother always had on 
 her sewing-table, and she kept all the little sacques and 
 caps which she made for you in it. I hunted it up, 
 Elsa ; take it with you. It was so pleasant when she 
 sat before it, it was like a bright spot in my life, it all 
 comes back to me on such days. One day she went 
 out, it was Christmas time, and then afterward, when 
 she sat at her sewing- table again, her brown eyes looked 
 at me so happily. ' Hegebach, I saw such a lovely rock- 
 ing-horse at Lehmann, the saddler's ! ' Yes, Elsa, if I 
 could have bought you a rocking-horse all would have 
 been different ! " 
 
 The girl lowered her eyes. Still the same refrain ! 
 
 "And then, child " he pushed the little mahogany 
 chest with the simple silver plate on the top and the 
 dead mother's name upon it " then, I have withdrawn 
 the suit against the Bennewitzer." 
 
 " Papa ! " It sounded like a cry of alarm. 
 
 " Yes, child. Should I not ? You have often told 
 me that I had no right to bring it." 
 
 " Yes, papa ; forgive me." She spoke hopelessly.
 
 A Poor Girl. 143 
 
 " And now he wishes to be reconciled to me, Elsa ; 
 it was to be a surprise for you, child ; they are coming 
 for me to-day with the carriage, we are to drive there 
 together to Madame Ratenow's, I mean ; but I do not 
 know, Elsa, whether it can be. I can bear no excite- 
 ment, and then it is such an old antipathy, it is not too 
 easy. I know very well that I must do it for your sake, 
 but " 
 
 " Papa ! In Heaven's name not for my sake ! " 
 begged the girl, white to her very lips. " Who told 
 you that ? " 
 
 u The Ratenow, child ; and she is right, yes, she is 
 right ! " 
 
 Elsa sprang up from her chair ; she tried to speak. 
 
 "Do not be vexed, Elsa, that I have betrayed it, for 
 I am so glad. Child, it is a dreadful feeling for a 
 father to be forced to leave his child utterly alone in 
 the world." 
 
 " Dear, dear papa ! " Her pale face bent down to 
 him. " I am not afraid, certainly not ; and you are 
 alive and will live a long time yet, and I may stay 
 with you, papa. I came here to make this request, 
 papa." 
 
 " Do not make me weak, Elsa ! This has all had 
 such an effect upon me, and Susan is disagreeable and 
 noisy, I " He suddenly groaned and clutched at his 
 breast. " This stupid oppression it is well that it has 
 all come about so for you, Elsa ! You have no idea of 
 how solitary, cold and dreadful life can be, or else you
 
 144 A Poor Girl. 
 
 would not be so courageous. Life as yet is all roses for 
 you." 
 
 She was silent as if petrified ; she knew now that she 
 had no one who understood her. At this moment 
 Susan rushed in in the greatest excitement. The lady 
 from the castle and the Bennewitzer gentleman were 
 coming upstairs. 
 
 So they had come. The old man in the arm-chair 
 changed color. " Go into the next room, Elsa, you 
 need not see how 
 
 She went into the room which had once been her 
 mother's, and stood before Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 
 " We have come here, Elsa ; at home the very walls 
 have ears now ; Lili is every where, and she need not hear 
 everything. I do not know how that witch can pursue 
 Hegebach as she does ; it is probably the fashion now 
 to pay court to men." And she seated herself in her 
 heavy silk mantle in the chair by the window, and un- 
 tied her bonnet-strings. 
 
 " Good mercy, how hot old Susan keeps this house ! " 
 she then added. 
 
 Yes, it was suffocating here, so thought the pale girl 
 yonder, panting for breath. In the other room was 
 heard the Bennewitzer's sonorous voice, so mild, so 
 conciliating ; and the old lady by the window played 
 calmly with her large, well-kept hands. Her face wore 
 an expression of the utmost satisfaction. 
 
 " Listen, Elsa," said she : " nineteen years ago you 
 lay in this sofa corner and cried piteously. Yes, if one
 
 A Poor Girl. 145 
 
 could know everything beforehand I should not have 
 taken you in my arms with such a heavy heart." 
 
 " What do you mean, aunt ? " 
 
 " Yes, my girl, this is a strange world ; the dear God 
 has his own ways, but it all comes about. What do I 
 mean ? Oh, nonsense, Elsa ; you are no ordinary girl 
 who simpers up to the very last. I know that that 
 question was unnecessary, because secretly you can 
 answer it very accurately. And when you do so with 
 your clear common-sense you should say, ' Thank 
 God ! old Aunt Ratenow was, to be sure, always very 
 good to me, but still I had to suit myself to all kinds 
 of moods, it was merely an assistance in time of need ; 
 and my old father can now have a few happy, un- 
 troubled days ! ' Eh, my dear ?" 
 
 " Aunt, I beg you ! " gasped the young girl. 
 
 " And then, child, he is so good, so very good ; he is 
 really a charming man ! I will confess to you, Elsa, 
 when I heard you were still at school then that he 
 had lost his sons, I thought at once, he will marry 
 again, and then I thought it would be a guidance of the 
 dear God if you should please him, Elsa. I saw it 
 coming gradually with sincere joy, and now he is in 
 there, Elsa, and asks your father's consent. Come here, 
 child, close to me. Do you think I did not notice 
 the little affair with your handsome young Lieuten- 
 ant ? Oh, Elsa, I too have been young. Lieutenants, 
 child, are very nice for you girls to dance with, but 
 in marriage more is needed than two bright eyes and 
 10
 
 146 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 shining epaulettes ! Elsa, how can any one look so 
 rigid ? Why, Elsa ! " 
 
 The girl had sunk down and raised her clasped 
 hands. 
 
 " Aunt, aunt, have pity ! " she sobbed with tearless 
 eyes. " I will do everything I will I cannot ! " 
 
 " Merciful heavens ! " She seized the girl around the 
 waist and raised her. " Elsa, control yourself ! More is
 
 A Poor Girl. 147 
 
 at stake than a girlish fancy. Refrain from that ' I 
 cannot ! ' my child. Life is earnest, very earnest, one 
 cannot look at it through colored glasses, the welfare of 
 a whole life is involved. This is no leap into a bed of 
 roses, it should be a serious step, taken with honest will 
 and firm resolve. I should have fared but ill, my child, 
 had I not had a wise father. Do you think I would 
 have chosen Frederick Ratenow ? No, Elsa. I was 
 head over ears in love with a very, very poor wretch of 
 a candidate who was my brother's tutor. I was a bold 
 thing, and told my father so when Ratenow asked for 
 my hand. Gracious, child, you should have seen ! 
 Before I could turn around, the candidate was out of 
 the house and Ratenow's ring was on my finger. And 
 what would you have ? It is so with every princess ! 
 No, no, Elsa ; be sensible." 
 
 She stroked the blonde head which rested so quietly 
 on her breast. " You will be sensible, eh ? " 
 
 " Not now, aunt ! Give me time, I implore you ! " 
 begged the trembling girl. " I must first become 
 calmer you must grant me this, you must ! " 
 
 She spoke the last passionately. The old lady saw 
 that she could press the excited girl no more. 
 
 " Listen, child ; take a walk, there is time before 
 dinner." She went and fetched the girl's hat and 
 cloak. " Go, my girl, and may God bless you." 
 
 She went, she fairly ran. Outside at least she could 
 breathe fresh air, and before her lay the broad land. 
 She yet cherished one hope, she yet felt strong enough
 
 148 A Poor Girl. 
 
 to defend it against the whole world. She thought of 
 the quiet little village in Thuringia, the pretty little 
 church, and the people who lived so peacefully together. 
 She saw Sister Beata's good face under the cap of their 
 order there was one spot where the storms of life did 
 not reach. 
 
 She was at home before she realized it ; she was glad 
 when the servant told her that the ladies were all out. 
 She started upstairs, then suddenly turned. 
 
 " Where is the Baron ? " 
 
 " In his room, Miss." 
 
 She came down-stairs again and knocked at his door. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 " Moritz, may I come in ? " 
 
 " Why, Elsa, of course ! " 
 
 " I wished to ask you something, Moritz." 
 
 " Certainly, Elsa. But come, we will go out in the 
 garden." 
 
 She looked at him in surprise ; he acted so strangely, 
 as if embarrassed. 
 
 " As you will, Moritz." 
 
 They went into the garden, and walked up and down 
 the sunny central path. There was a delightful per- 
 fume of violets in the air, and above them the birds 
 sang sweetly ; it was a lovely spot, this old castle garden. 
 
 Elsa suddenly raised her green fan to her eyes. 
 
 " Moritz," she began, " have I offended you in any 
 way ? " 
 
 " No, my dear child," he replied gently.
 
 A Poor Girl. 149 
 
 " I thought I must have, you have been so changed 
 to me for some time." 
 
 He watched her as she walked beside him with low- 
 ered eyes. What had become of the fresh, blooming 
 girl? 
 
 " Moritz ! " It was the old, childish tone. " Must 
 I do what they all wish, must I ? " 
 
 " Must ? No, Elsa, but perhaps it would be well for 
 you to do so." 
 
 " I cannot, Moritz." 
 
 " Elsa! " He stood still and took her hand. " Think 
 no more of Bernardi," said he, in his kindly way ; " do 
 not wait for him. Listen, we men forget anything of 
 that kind. You must not fancy that he torments him- 
 self as you do, child, you know nothing of life as yet." 
 
 She looked at him again with her mournful eyes, and 
 a slight flush rose to her pale face. 
 
 " I often think of him, Moritz, often, although against 
 my will, but from the first moment I have hoped no 
 longer. I know only too well that a chasm, a yawning 
 chasm, lies between us. I only wonder whether but 
 you probably do not understand me, Moritz. I have 
 not a particle of love for my cousin, not a particle 
 such as one should have for for " 
 
 She stammered, broke off, and stood before him, 
 blushing deeply, and slowly great tears rolled from 
 beneath her lowered lashes. 
 
 He did understand her, but what should he say ? 
 What was to become of her ? He could offer her a
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 home no longer if she refused the Bennewitzer. His 
 mother would be bitterly angry with her, and Frieda ? 
 His domestic happiness was at stake ; it sounded ridic- 
 
 ulous, but the little woman was jealous, really and truly 
 jealous, and she showed it at every opportunity. Elsa, 
 the innocent child, suspected nothing of this, and she 
 should not learn of it.
 
 A Poor Girl. 151 
 
 He was still silent. 
 
 " Elsa," he said at length and he felt how common- 
 place his words were " do not make your life so fear- 
 fully hard. Listen " and he again began to walk up 
 and down, his hands behind his back " as we grow 
 older and calmer, in later life, we think so differently 
 of love affairs and marriages of affection what was I 
 going to say ? Elsa, dear, I really would consider the 
 matter." 
 
 She did not answer and dried her tears. " Well then, 
 Moritz, I beg you one favor at least, ask Aunt Rate- 
 now not to desire my decision to-day, not to-day. And 
 you, Moritz, forgive me for asking this of you." 
 
 She turned and went back to the house. She took 
 the way through the hall ; she had heard Frieda's voice 
 in the garden-room and a waltz being played. Lili, as 
 was her wont, played a few bars, only immediately after 
 to begin something else. Elsa reached her little room 
 unobserved, and seated herself by the window. Now 
 she had no friend here, she was alone, they all were 
 angry with her because she scorned an assured future, a 
 comfortable existence, the envied lot of a wealthy young 
 wife, for the one reason which the world thinks so absurd, 
 but which is so sacredly serious for a pure womanly 
 heart. But papa, poor lonely old papa, said an inner 
 voice, the only one which rose in contradiction to her 
 thoughts. " No," said she aloud, " I do not love him, 
 I deceive him and myself." She did not know the outer 
 world with its thorny paths, which a solitary girl must
 
 152 A Poor Girl. 
 
 follow, but it could not be as dreadful as if she 
 She sprang up and a nervous shudder overcame her. 
 Hastily she seized a book and turned over the pages. 
 Then her eyes rested upon a poem : 
 
 " The mother said, ' My Elsa dear, 
 
 You must no longer tarry. 
 'Tis possible e'en without love 
 
 Quite happily to marry. 
 And many a one who marries thus, 
 
 Merely for home or splendor, 
 Yet thinks herself a happy wife 
 
 Without this love so tender.' " 
 
 She smiled painfully and closed the book; resting her 
 head on her clasped hands, she wept for the first time 
 in many a long day like a child like a poor, deserted 
 child. Hours passed, twilight fell, and the moon's 
 pale light shone into the young girl's room, but still 
 she sat there in the same position. 
 
 Music sounded from the drawing-room ; Miss Lili 
 was playing the piano to pass the time. The others 
 stayed so very long in Aunt Ratenow's room, and the 
 old lady even requested in the politest manner that 
 Miss Lili would not come with the others. It was un- 
 bearably tiresome to-day. Even the dinner with the 
 Bennewitzer, who had scarcely spoken a word and 
 merely continually stroked his dark beard, which was 
 a frequent gesture of his, and before that the family 
 scene at the Cramms', Annie as a happy fiancee, stiff 
 as a wax-doll, and beside her Lieutenant von Rost,
 
 A Poor Girl. 153 
 
 who looked as utterly indifferent as though the whole 
 affair really did not concern him in the slightest. 
 The only one really affected was Mamma Cramm, 
 for papa's mood seemed rather the result of the 
 silver-necked bottles in the wine-cooler than delight 
 over his son-in-law. As soon as her first astonishment 
 was over, Lili had at once taken leave of the family 
 group, having received permission to tell the happy 
 news everywhere. 
 
 Outside, in the hall, she had asked in truly military 
 style : "Annie, when did the bomb burst ? Since when 
 has this been going on ? No one has noticed anything 
 of it until now." 
 
 And Annie had blushed. " Oh, we have been fond 
 of each other for a long time, but papa would never 
 hear of it." 
 
 " How dreadful ! " Lili had suppressed her laughter 
 with difficulty. " But now ? " 
 
 u Ah, Lili, I should have died without him." 
 
 " Dear me ! " cried the rogue in surprise. "Ah, 
 well, I will no longer disturb you. Tell me, Annie, his 
 name is von Rost, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, von Rost." The answer was somewhat short. 
 
 " Good-by, Annie ! " She had run away, suppressing 
 a giggle with great difficulty, to tell the great news to 
 the household at dinner, and found only displeased 
 faces, and except Frieda no one had taken the slightest 
 interest in the matter.
 
 XL 
 
 AFTER dinner, the Bennewitzer had at once taken 
 leave ; the sisters had gone to the window to look after 
 the handsome carriage, and Lili yawned heartily, then 
 hummed a few bars from Der Freischutz : 
 
 " Though he's old, yet he suits me; 
 His many wrinkles I'll not see." 
 
 And had finished with, " Brr, Frieda ! I think I will 
 soon return home." 
 
 " Yes. I cannot blame you." 
 
 The young wife was cross, and had buried her woes 
 in a novel by Heyse. Moritz had gone to his mother, 
 finally Frieda also. 
 
 " Listen, Lili," she had said. " All is not right up- 
 stairs. I am going to investigate." The young wife 
 had been gone an eternity already, and Lili was greatly 
 bored ; even the pale Elsa did not come to take pity on 
 her. 
 
 It was best that she should go home ; there at least 
 she could amuse herself with the master of hounds of 
 the P court ; he was far less tiresome than the Ben-
 
 A Poor Girl. 155 
 
 newitzer. Oh, well, what was to be done with such 
 heroes as the Bennewitzer and Moritz, the great good- 
 natured bear and of whom Frieda was so frighfully 
 jealous good heavens ! 
 
 Frieda had first listened at the door, and then gone 
 in. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow, calm as ever, sat in her chair 
 by the window ; the cup, with her coat of arms upon 
 it, stood beside her as usual, and her hands held her 
 knitting. Moritz walked up and down the room in 
 great strides ; he looked excited. 
 
 " Ah !" cried the beautiful little woman. "Moritz 
 is like a wild animal. What has happened ? " 
 
 " I am not quite of mamma's opinion, Frieda." 
 
 " Indeed," said his wife ironically. " That is cer- 
 tainly unusual." 
 
 "And I assert," declared Mrs. von Ratenow, "that 
 one must be firm ; there are many people who fight 
 against their happiness as a sick child against medicine." 
 
 " And I assert, mother, that it is not the custom with 
 us to sell a woman," he burst out. And his honest, kind 
 face flushed with anger. " She has a right to decide for 
 herself in such matters. What will become of respect- 
 ability, morality, and womanliness if such horrible prin- 
 ciples, which, alas ! are the order of the day, become 
 common ? For my part, I despise a girl who marries 
 merely for the sake of a home ! " He stood before his 
 mother with sparkling eyes. 
 
 The old lady remained perfectly calm. Moritz had
 
 156 A Poor Girl. 
 
 always been a bit of an enthusiast, he got that from his 
 father, and the " boy " did not know what life meant 
 for an unprotected poor girl. 
 
 " Of course I cannot drag her to the church, and 
 Hegebach is not the man to beg for a wife," was the 
 reply. " What you say, my boy, sounds very pretty, if 
 one possesses the necessary means. You know yourself 
 that theory and practice are very different things. I 
 have spoken on this subject often enough in these days. 
 I shall say no more. I meant well. My grandmother 
 used to say, ' Love love is mostly imagination ! ' I 
 have known plenty of girls who have been in despair 
 at not being permitted to marry their first love, only 
 to find afterward with the second that he was really 
 the true, the only love. You are absurd, Moritz ! 
 Such views are only suited to a love-sick girl, or a 
 half-cracked old maid." 
 
 " It may be," he replied roughly. " But I will not 
 believe that many think as you do." 
 
 He had paused before Frieda and looked down at 
 her with radiant eyes. 
 
 " Frieda, speak a word in honor of your sex." 
 
 " I do not know what she means." The little woman 
 turned her beautiful head aside as if in embarrassment. 
 
 " Hegebach to-day asked for Elsa's hand, and 
 she " 
 
 " For Elsa ?" the astonished eyes glanced from her 
 husband to the busily knitting mother-in-law. " In- 
 deed ! " and she laughed loudly.
 
 A Poor Girl. 157 
 
 Involuntarily he started. What did this convulsive 
 laugh, which was almost a sob, mean ? Great tears were 
 running down the pale cheeks. 
 
 " Of course you dissuaded her from accepting, 
 Moritz," said she between her laughter. 
 
 " Dissuaded ? No, Frieda; on the contrary, I tried 
 to explain to her the necessity of this step, but I was 
 nevertheless sorry to do so." 
 
 " Of course ! " The young wife no longer laughed. 
 " I could not imagine the castle without Elsa von 
 Hegebach, it would be impossible." 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " interposed the old 
 lady. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, dear mamma. Moritz surely under- 
 stood me." 
 
 " Unfortunately no, Frieda," was the calm reply. 
 
 " But I do." Mrs. von Ratenow had risen, and now 
 stood before her daughter-in-law. " I have been very 
 considerate of you, my child, and of your whims and ca- 
 prices, with which you tyrannize over the whole house, 
 because I believed that you sincerely loved your hus- 
 band. That he let you torment him was his affair ; he 
 wished nothing better. But when you dare " she raised 
 her voice loudly " to accuse him, even in thought, of 
 dishonor, when you dare to attack the reputation of the 
 girl who has grown up under my roof Frieda, by Hea- 
 ven, I forget that you are the wife of my only son, the 
 mother of his children ! " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Moritz, gently drawing down the old
 
 158 A Poor Girl. 
 
 lady's threateningly uplifted hand. " Frieda does not 
 know what she is saying ; she means differently." 
 
 The young wife remained in her chair, pale as a 
 corpse ; her face expressed a passionate defiance. 
 
 " No," she cried, springing up, " I do not mean dif- 
 ferently ! I know what I have said. Since Elsa von 
 Hegebach came to this house he has been a different 
 man, he has eyes and attention for her alone ; I must 
 certainly know it better than you and the others." 
 
 " Silence !" commanded the old lady so calmly and 
 with such dignity that the beautiful mouth involuntarily 
 closed. " What did I tell you, Moritz," she turned to 
 her son, " when you courted your wife ? Do not weary 
 of controlling her, or else she will get beyond control. 
 Now you are reaping the harvest of your boundless 
 indulgence, your foolishness. There are women and 
 children for whom kindness is poison and this was a 
 love match ! Mine was not, but I respected your father 
 and should never have dared to insult him. Now it 
 is only necessary for you to beg her forgiveness, my 
 boy, and the chapter of a modern conjugal romance is 
 complete." 
 
 *' You know very well, mother, that I shall not do 
 that," he replied gloomily. 
 
 But the old lady only half heard it ; she had gone 
 into her bedroom and bolted the door behind her. 
 
 " Frieda," said he sadly, turning toward her, " your 
 imagination has misled you fearfully ; God knows you 
 could not pain me more."
 
 A Poor Girl. 159 
 
 She still stood there pulling at her delicate handker- 
 chief, her blue eyes shining with tears. 
 
 " Frieda, go back to your room and first grow calm," 
 he pleaded, " then let us speak together quietly. My 
 God ! how could you fancy such a thing ?" 
 
 He was pale ; she must see that she had wounded 
 the great faithful man to the heart, but she would not 
 see it. She shook off his hand and left the room hastily ; 
 she was too deeply insulted, she was too unhappy a 
 wife oh 
 
 " Lili," she sobbed in her boudoir, falling upon her 
 sister's neck, " it is too terrible when, with all one's 
 other misery, one has such a mother-in-law ! Old and 
 big as Moritz is, he, nevertheless, is tied to her apron- 
 strings like a child, and does not once take my part 
 when she treats me like a school-girl. But why should 
 he ? He loves me no longer ! " 
 
 It was a wretched day which neared its. close, and 
 a wretched evening followed it. Frieda had shut her- 
 self into her room and would not see Moritz ; Lili told 
 him this and looked at her brother-in-law as though he 
 were a criminal of the worst kind. The children cried 
 in their room, and when he wished to calm them they 
 were frightened by his gloomy face. He then went out 
 doors ; it was fairly suffocating in the house, he thought. 
 Finally he walked down the driveway in the fragrant 
 spring evening, and aimlessly strolled on through the 
 city gate. The streets were very gay, the children 
 played before the doors, and the neighbors gossiped
 
 160 A Poor Girl. 
 
 with each other, while the moonlight made it almost 
 bright as day. 
 
 " Hallo, my dear Ratenow ! " cried a voice, and 
 some one tapped him on the shoulder. " What brings 
 you here ? If you seek company, come to the Casino. 
 Rost is celebrating his betrothal." 
 
 Captain von P stood before him. Moritz was 
 
 not in the mood, he did not care to go ; he excused 
 himself, saying he was not in evening dress, but finally 
 went. 
 
 In the elegant dining-room of the officers' club they 
 were very gay when the men entered. The happy 
 betrothed seemed the quietest of them all, except the 
 Bennewitzer who smoked his cigar apathetically. 
 
 " What the devil ! " said Moritz, with difficulty taking 
 a jesting tone. " You here, Mr. von Hegebach ? How 
 comes Saul among the prophets ? " 
 
 " I was captured, as I suppose you were, dear Rate- 
 now," he replied, drawing up a chair for Moritz. "I 
 did not care to drive home yet ; you know, there are 
 days in life when one cannot rest." 
 
 Moritz was silent ; he knew very well what that 
 meant, he himself had asked Hegebach early this morn- 
 ing to wait until to-morrow. Elsa was so surprised ; his 
 offer had come upon her so suddenly ; with everything 
 else which one is accustomed to say when a respite is 
 to be obtained. 
 
 They had already proceeded from punch to cham- 
 pagne ; Rost was very lavish this evening, he had such
 
 A Poor Girl. 161 
 
 a " monstrously accommodating " future father-in-law, 
 who, as he had told him to-day, would help him to 
 settle up his debts ; a few bottles more or less of cham- 
 pagne could make no difference. 
 
 " Have you sent word to Bernardi, Rost ? " asked fat 
 Assessor Dolling. 
 
 '' Of course ! " replied he. " I hope he will telegraph 
 congratulations, for his letters are unendurable ; what 
 he writes in his misanthropical mood is incredible ! " 
 
 " His letters are better than himself," cried one of 
 the young men ; " he does nothing but work or play on 
 his violin. When I had leave recently I tried several 
 times to bring him out a bit ; what is the use otherwise 
 of being stationed in a half-way decent city ? But 
 no, indeed. He remarked very condescendingly that 
 such doings disgusted him, and that the Tivoli Theatre 
 was to him simply horrible." 
 
 Most of the men laughed. "I troubled him no 
 more," concluded the young officer, filling his glass. 
 " Such a thing never worries us of the cavalry." 
 
 "I really believe that he will resign," remarked 
 another very slowly, " for I learned accidentally that he 
 asked my uncle, who is a kind of musical crank, whether 
 he believed that his talent was sufficient to enable 
 him to accomplish anything as a virtuoso, an artist." 
 
 " And I trust that your uncle said," interrupted the 
 
 Assessor, imitating the speaker, " ' Dear Bernardi, you 
 
 are not very clever ; you are not a bad fiddler, but it 
 
 takes more than that nowadays to become a virtuoso.' " 
 
 ii
 
 162 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Lieutenant von Rost, who was not easily roused, 
 suddenly changed color. 
 
 " Such a fellow ! " he said softly to his neighbor 
 on the left. "One has just with difficulty prevented 
 him from committing an act of folly, and now he is 
 about to commit a still greater one he is simply 
 crazy." 
 
 But his irritated remark was drowned by the noisy 
 "Hoc/if" which his comrades drank to the health of the 
 young couple. 
 
 " Here's to Miss Annie Cramm ! Let us drink to 
 her health with three times three ! " came from many 
 animated voices. 
 
 " And a health to all beautiful women ! " cried Cap- 
 tain von P , and again the glasses clicked. 
 
 Moritz suddenly rose. It was not possible for him in 
 his present frame of mind to remain here in this tumult. 
 
 " You are going ? " asked the Bennewitzer. " I will 
 come with you if you will permit." 
 
 "You are staying here in the hotel ?" Moritz asked 
 in the hall, while the enthusiastic toasts echoed from 
 the dining-room. 
 
 "Yes! But I will accompany you, Ratenow." 
 
 It was now quiet on the street ; only the moon 
 bathed the city in its pale radiance, and a light mist 
 hung over the roofs and wrapped the outlines of the 
 houses and trees in a fairy-like veil. They walked on 
 in silence, neither could find the right word to begin 
 the conversation.
 
 A Poor Girl. i63 
 
 " My dear Ratenow," said the elder at length, " I do 
 not want you, you especially, to judge me falsely. You 
 looked at me so strangely a short time ago. I am 
 neither vain enough to believe that a young girl like 
 Elsa von Hegebach would rush with delight into my 
 open arms, nor am I at the age when the expectation 
 of the decisive word from a pair of red lips drives one 
 hither and thither restlessly, and makes one, in case it 
 is a refusal, think with satisfaction of suicide. I have 
 borne too many hard blows of fate for that. The 
 reasons which induce me to ask for my cousin's hand 
 are only partly of an egotistical nature. My chief 
 desire is that my cousin and his child may share our 
 uncle's property, and this is the only way in which 
 
 they can legally. But " he stood still and laid his 
 
 hand on his companion's shoulder. " I will add that 
 I should not have formed this plan had not I con- 
 ceived the greatest liking for the young girl. I say 
 liking, dear Ratenow ; at my age one no longer speaks 
 of passions." 
 
 They walked on. Moritz had continued silent, he 
 knew so well that the man spoke the truth ; he knew 
 that he could have chosen from many ; he was still a 
 stately gentleman, a man with a noble, large heart, he 
 might claim happiness, and yet 
 
 " In the last weeks I have continually imagined how 
 it might be, Ratenow," the Bennewitzer continued in a 
 warm tone. " I have seen Elsa's figure gliding through 
 my lonely rooms, and have heard her voice, so promis-
 
 164 A Poor Girl. 
 
 ing of happiness. I have gone to the room which I 
 destined for her father, and have planned the wedding 
 journey so as to show the wondering child's eyes the 
 other side of the Alps. God knows, Ratenow, it would 
 be an unspeakable pleasure to me to show this young 
 creature the thousand beauties with which nature and 
 man have adorned the world, and " 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " I once crossed the Black Forest into Switzerland, 
 with my eldest boy, and I shall never forget the pleas- 
 ure which I took in his unfeigned delight, his naive 
 astonishment. I should like to see it again Ratenow," 
 he asked suddenly, " is not that some one ? " 
 
 They stood at the entrance to the carriage drive ; the 
 dark tree-trunks stood out distinctly in the moonlight, 
 and through the light mist, quickly, almost running, 
 a figure certainly did come toward them. 
 
 " It is a woman," said Moritz. " It is Elsa," he 
 added, after a minute. " Elsa, for God's sake, Elsa, 
 where are you going ? What do you want ? " 
 
 Suddenly she clung to him, he felt the trembling and 
 quivering of her body. 
 
 " Moritz, to father ! Take me to father ! " 
 
 " What has happened, Elsa ? Pray speak ! " 
 
 He loosed her arms from his neck and gazed at her 
 deathly-pale face. 
 
 " 111," said she, with quivering lips. " Susan came, 
 she wished to summon me, then I ran away take me 
 there, Moritz."
 
 A Poor Girl. 165 
 
 He drew her trembling hand within his arm. " Come, 
 my girl." 
 
 " I will go with you," said the Bennewitzer. " Has 
 a physician been sent for, do you know, Elsa ? " 
 
 She shook her head and ran on, the men had diffi- 
 culty in keeping up with her. She was without hat and 
 coat, and in the uncertain light there was something 
 uncanny in the way she flew on ahead. She had 
 rushed up the stairs when the men reached the door. In 
 the dim hall upstairs the physician came to meet them. 
 
 " Come in, gentlemen," he said softly. " I sent for 
 his daughter he will not live until morning." 
 
 They stood in the dingy sitting-room, the moonlight 
 shone in brightly, and lay in a broad, white strip upon 
 the floor, while the shadows of the young leafy twigs 
 outside the window were reflected in it. " Tic-tac, 
 tic-tac," said the old Black Forest clock, and through 
 the half-opened door of the adjoining room came 
 sounds like groans of pain. 
 
 " Papa ! " cried a voice then, " do not go away from 
 me, do not leave me so lonely, so fearfully lonely ! " 
 
 The physician quickly took a step toward the door, 
 then stood still again the dying man spoke slowly, 
 hesitatingly, and in disconnected, scarcely intelligible 
 sentences. 
 
 " No, no, papa, do not die, do not die ! I must tell 
 you something, dear papa. Listen to me, can you hear 
 me ? " 
 
 The physician went in. After a moment he came
 
 1 66 A Poor Girl. 
 
 back and motioned to the Bennewitzer. He entered 
 the room, and his eyes sought the girl. She lay before 
 the chair in which her father rested, and embraced his 
 knees ; the old man's right hand lay on her head, his 
 half-closed eyes were turned toward the entrance. 
 
 " It has come quickly, cousin, but I am much 
 calmer than usual because Elsa, your hand. I have 
 done nothing for you in life, poor child, forgive me, 
 and you were always good and obedient forgive me, 
 Elsa, make it easier for me to die it was so hard 
 life." 
 
 She raised her head and looked around as if begging 
 for mercy, but the weary eyes did not meet her gaze, 
 did not understand what she wanted. She only felt 
 that his hand with difficulty groped for hers, and when 
 he clasped it, made a weary effort to raise it and lay it 
 in another hand. All the sacred majesty of death 
 suddenly dawned upon her at sight of the fearfully 
 altered features, she gave herself up unresistingly to the 
 influence, then she felt a man's warm hand clasped 
 around hers, and that the dying man's right rested help- 
 lessly upon both. 
 
 " William, dear William," said a man's voice, with 
 emotion, " I will protect her and shield her I promise 
 you ! " 
 
 " Elsa ! " whispered the dying man, " you will not be 
 left alone ; no poor deserted girl no, Elsa " 
 
 She lay there without strength, her head on his knees, 
 her hand still clasped in the Bennewitzer's ; it seemed
 
 A Poor Girl. 167 
 
 as though a blood-red mist rose before her eyes, and 
 she could no longer think clearly. Then she heard 
 Moritz's voice once more. " It is over. Come, Elsa, my 
 dear child," and she felt some one raise her from the 
 floor, then knew no more. 
 
 When she awoke to consciousness, Mrs. von Ratenow 
 sat beside the sofa upon which they had put her to 
 bed ; the old lady wore a wrapper, and had rested her 
 head against the back of the chair and slept. The rays 
 of the rising sun fell through the window, and filled the 
 room with light. 
 
 The young girl started up abruptly, the scene of the 
 night before rose to her mind suddenly as if by magic. 
 Ah, it is terrible when a few hours of sleep have driven 
 away sad remembrance; the weight of misery falls with 
 double force upon the soul as it awakens, terrifying it 
 anew, hurling it anew to the ground. 
 
 She drew her hand over her forehead. Was it all true ? 
 And as if to convince herself, she rose and crept past the 
 sleeping Mrs. von Ratenow into the adjoining room. 
 
 A draught of fresh air greeted her, the windows were 
 opened, and a white cloth thrown over that which lay on 
 the bed yonder. She stared at it immovably, her heart 
 grew cold, and involuntarily she wrung her hands. 
 " Our Father who art in Heaven " flashed across her 
 distracted mind ; she felt that she must pray, and yet 
 had not the power to put her fear, her supplication into 
 her own words " and forgive us our debts as we forgive 
 our debtors ! "
 
 1 68 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Then a startlingly shrill sound rang up into the room. 
 Down in the street the trumpeter was blowing the usual 
 reveille. 
 
 "His soldiers must wake up papa," Aunt Lott had 
 once told the little girl when they had heard the gay 
 sounds even in the castle. 
 
 " Come, Elsa, my dear child, that will never wake 
 him again," said the voice of Mrs. von Ratenow ; and 
 she drew the girl to her breast. " It is well with him, 
 my child, we must not grudge him his peace."
 
 XII. 
 
 THE funeral was over. The gentlemen who had 
 accompanied the body to the churchyard took leave at 
 the gate of Moritz and the Bennewitzer. 
 
 Lieutenant von Rost crossed the road to greet his 
 fiancee and her mother, who were taking a walk, perhaps 
 not merely to breathe the fresh air, but also to see some- 
 thing of the funeral procession. Mrs. Cramm loved 
 such things, and Annie no less ; a large fire, a wedding, 
 or a funeral always attracted them to the scene. 
 
 The fiancd bowed and walked on beside Annie with- 
 out offering her his arm. He was not of an especially 
 chivalrous nature, and he had never spoiled his be- 
 trothed by too great attention, which Annie felt most 
 painfully. It would have been so charming to walk 
 along the streets together so tenderly and affectionately 
 that every one might see how they loved each other. 
 
 " My dear son," began Mrs. Cramm, " have you heard 
 how Miss von Hegebach is feeling now ? She must 
 be fairly petrified with grief, as Annie tells me." 
 
 The young lady nodded eagerly. " Yes, only think, 
 Leo, I was there a short time ago ; she did not say a
 
 170 A Poor Girl. 
 
 word, and it was pitiful to see. She was not on such 
 deeply affectionate terms with the old man, and au fond 
 really has no cause for such despair. But she is fairly 
 crushed. Do you understand that ? " 
 
 He dropped his eye-glass. " Possibly," he replied, 
 "it is the result of two such shocks at once." 
 
 "Two?" mother and daughter cried in the same 
 breath. 
 
 He was silent for a while, and then said, " She was 
 betrothed to the Bennewitzer beside her father's death- 
 bed." 
 
 A double cry of astonishment. " How lucky that girl 
 is ! " cried the round old lady in the black velvet cloak. 
 
 <l It is astonishing, is it not ? " asked Lieutenant 
 von Rost, with an expression which made it doubtful 
 whether he spoke seriously or ironically. 
 
 " A great piece of good fortune ! " repeated Mrs. 
 Cramm. " That magnificent Bennewitz and the elegant 
 
 carriages ! Why, last year Prince H stayed there 
 
 for the hunting ! " 
 
 Annie was silent. She remembered how, when at 
 school, Elsa had often worn herself out over her books 
 studying for the governess's examinations ; how simply 
 she had always dressed. Yes, truly that was a piece 
 of good fortune. Who would have thought it ? 
 
 So the news of the betrothal of the so recently 
 orphaned girl to her cousin flew all over the city ; and 
 she herself sat in her little room in her long mourning 
 gown, her pale face rose ghostlike above the black
 
 A Poor Girl. 171 
 
 crape ruche, and her mouth wore an indescribably sad 
 expression. 
 
 She had said but little since that morning, but Aunt 
 Ratenow so much the more. She had not wept, but 
 had gone about with a grief-stricken face, had moved 
 from one spot to another, her hands in her lap, her 
 eyes fixed gloomily upon the ground. She had taken 
 scarcely any nourishment, had scarcely slept. She saw 
 continually before her the discolored face of her dying 
 father ; she felt the anxious groping for her hand, and 
 how the chain closed around it, this invisible, horrible 
 chain which she must wear for her whole life. Was it 
 not more than horrible to avail oneself of the sacred 
 power of the death-hour, the compelling force of a last 
 wish, to make a human heart miserable for all life ? 
 " Father, you did not love me," she groaned. And 
 then again she saw the happy smile when he joined 
 their hands ; the last, ah, so gentle breath, as though 
 the poor breast were freed from a heavy weight. He 
 died content, he died calm and she must live, live ! 
 It was horrible ! 
 
 She had not yet seen him again, him in whose hand 
 her father had placed her right hand ; and Mrs. von 
 Ratenow had not urged this upon her. It was not 
 compatible, this deep, silent grief, with betrothal happi- 
 ness. But when they had returned from the burial, 
 Mr. von Hegebach had asked to speak with her who 
 had been intrusted to him in that solemn hour. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow, also in deep mourning, went up-
 
 172 A Poor Girl. 
 
 stairs to announce this important visit to Elsa. She 
 held a few twigs of cypress in her hand ; the Benne- 
 witzer had taken them from the coffin before it was 
 lowered into the grave a last greeting for the daughter. 
 
 The stately woman knocked less resolutely than 
 usual at the door, and then entered. Elsa sat beside 
 the table, writing materials lay before her ; she shut the 
 letter she was writing in the portfolio and rose. Mrs. 
 von Ratenow pressed the little cypress twigs into her 
 hand and stroked the pale cheek. 
 
 " Hegebach sends his love, he thought you would 
 like to drive with him to the grave, the carriage is 
 waiting, Elsa. Will you get ready ? He will come up 
 for you." 
 
 At the words " with him " she shuddered, and a deep 
 blush suffused her pale face for a moment. She did 
 not answer, but shook her blonde head slightly. 
 
 " Why have you drawn all the shades down ?" asked 
 the old lady, "as though God's sun were something 
 horrible," and she drew them up so that the glaring 
 sunlight streamed in and encircled the girl's head like 
 a halo. She closed her eyes, the rays were so piteously 
 bright. 
 
 " Look* out-doors, Elsa." Mrs. von Ratenow took her 
 hand and drew her to the window. " See how the buds 
 are bursting on the apple-trees and how blue the sky 
 is ! One should honor the dead, child, but should not 
 forget the living for them, and you have duties in life ; 
 take heart."
 
 A Poor Girl. 173 
 
 The girl did not raise her eyes ; if possible, she grew 
 paler. 
 
 "I am going down-stairs now, Elsa ; I have some- 
 thing to say to Frieda. I will send your fianct? upstairs. 
 At such times etiquette steps in the background, and 
 besides he is no young idiot. When you come back 
 from the church-yard you will take a cup of coffee with 
 me. God bless you, Elsa ! " 
 
 She had gone. The girl clutched her forehead as 
 though in agony, and the little hand clenched itself in 
 her soft blonde hair. Was there no hope of escape ? 
 Her eyes glanced around the room in horror ; now she 
 was to fulfil a promise against which her whole heart 
 rebelled. Ah, to be free, to be free once more ! It 
 was horrible to know that all such thoughts were a sin. 
 Mechanically she donned her dainty black mantle and 
 bonnet. Then her hands dropped down limply, as 
 she was about to fasten the strings there on the 
 threshold 
 
 "Cousin," she stammered. 
 
 He came up to her and took both her hands in his ; 
 now he drew them to his lips. 
 
 "My dear Elsa," said he gently, "it was a painful 
 hour which brought us together, but also a grave and 
 sacred one, the guarantee of a future of true, sincere 
 happiness." 
 
 He spoke warmly, but nevertheless what he said 
 sounded stiff, almost pedantic. It seemed as though 
 the girl's chest rose as if relieved, but she was silent.
 
 174 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Are you willing that we should now visit your fath- 
 er's grave together, Elsa ? " 
 
 She nodded. He took her parasol from the table, 
 handed it to her, and then offered her his arm. She 
 
 scarcely rested her hand upon it, and thus they left the 
 room, went down-stairs, through the hall and out to 
 the carriage. He helped her in, she seated herself on 
 the soft cushions of silver- gray silk, and he carefully
 
 A Poor Girl. 175 
 
 spread the handsome lap-robe over her knees. She 
 had not once looked up ; now, as they drove quickly 
 away, she glanced back. Mrs. von Ratenow stood in 
 the window and waved her hand to them. 
 
 A feeling of indescribable misery came over the girl 
 as she rolled away in the elegant carriage. It seemed 
 to her that she had been sold, that she was unworthy 
 of herself, and with a hasty gesture she drew the crape 
 veil over her face. She was ashamed to let the bright 
 clear spring sun shine into her eyes. 
 
 She did not notice his offered arm at the entrance of 
 the church-yard ; she walked on hastily. 
 
 " Where are you going, Elsa ? " he asked. " The 
 grave is on this side." 
 
 But already she had sunk down beside another 
 mound, and was wringing her hands as though in de- 
 spairing prayer. If she were still alive a mother could 
 never force her child into a loveless life, no, never ! 
 
 He stood aside, calmly waiting. It was a long time 
 before she rose, turned and followed him to the fresh 
 grave on which the earth was still uneven a sad 
 sight which they had sought to conceal by numerous 
 wreaths. 
 
 She stood here without a word, without a tear. He 
 tried to take her hand, she drew it away from him 
 gently. 
 
 " Shall we return ? " he asked after a quarter of an 
 hour of deep silence. She assented and walked quickly 
 on before him, down the narrow path between the rows
 
 176 A Poor Girl. 
 
 of graves. At the carriage she hesitated. She would 
 have much preferred walking. He silently offered her 
 his hand to assist her to get into the carriage and seated 
 himself beside her in silence. He knew what it was to 
 return home from a fresh grave, he could easily under- 
 stand her gloomy manner ; besides, she was always shy, 
 grave, and somewhat cold. They would learn to laugh 
 again, these brown childish eyes, when they need no 
 longer look upon care and want, when the careless 
 sunny existence in the comfortable rooms and beautiful 
 park of Bennewitz had banished sad thoughts from 
 the white brow. She would learn to smile again on 
 their travels ; he would show her Paris first of all; she 
 was only human, and Paris Paris is an undefinably 
 attractive word for a woman's ear. 
 
 She had covered her face with her veil again, and 
 looked neither to the right nor the left. As they drove 
 past the officers' club, Lieutenant von Rost and Captain 
 
 von H stood in front of it. They bowed deeply, 
 
 and looked after the carriage and the black veil which 
 floated through the carriage window for a moment. 
 
 " She has not learned," said Rost, "to lie back among 
 the cushions a la grande dame ; she sat up like a naughty 
 child on a school-bench. Ah, well, it will not take her 
 long; women have a remarkable skill for such things." 
 
 " Do you think that she is in love with him ? " asked 
 von H . 
 
 " Bah ! " said Rost, and turned toward his horse, 
 which a groom just then led up.
 
 XIII. 
 
 MEANWHILE Mrs. von Ratenow had been with 
 Frieda. This young lady's temper had been as hope- 
 lessly bad as an equinoctial storm. She had scarcely a 
 word of sympathy for the orphan. Lili had gone up- 
 stairs intending to be very cool in her condolences, but 
 her good though flighty heart had gone out to the quiet, 
 grief-stricken girl, and when she rejoined Frieda down- 
 stairs her eyes were red. 
 
 " Good gracious, why ? " said the young wife crossly. 
 " She has been very fortunate, I think. Pray do not 
 go on like Moritz, as though a grand catastrophe had 
 occurred." 
 
 " Why, Frieda, one does not look like that, in spite 
 of all one's grief, when one is happily betrothed. No, 
 Frieda, you are in a bad temper, and wish to have some 
 one to be vexed with ; I know you, little sister, eh ? 
 She has taken away one of your admirers, dear Frieda, 
 eh ? You cannot seriously be jealous of Moritz, good 
 gracious ! He has never cared for any one in all his 
 life but just you." 
 
 But neither teasing nor reasoning had succeeded in 
 12
 
 178 A Poor Girl. 
 
 banishing the beautiful woman's bad temper; everything 
 had gone wrong since Elsacame here, and now there was 
 no prospect that she would leave the house. One must 
 consider her mourning, she was no longer a nobody 
 who could be overlooked, she was betrothed to a man 
 who belonged to those who gave tone to his circle, who 
 was considered one of the leaders of society in the prov- 
 ince. And Frieda fastened a coral brooch at the neck 
 of her dark-blue gown, for she would not participate 
 in the mourning. What did she care about the surly 
 old man who had just closed his weary eyes ? 
 
 But the old lady entered her daughter-in-law's room 
 with such an expression of satisfaction that the black 
 crape-trimmed gown was in strange contrast to her face. 
 All her hopes for the girl were about to be fulfilled, the 
 poor little thing had actually drawn the grand prize. 
 And how nicely she behaved, so grave, so reserved, 
 and yet so proud in her manners. And how pretty she 
 looked in her deep mourning. She had not once tried, 
 as before her father's death, to behave repellently and 
 roughly. Ah, such a gaze into eyes which are about 
 to close forever has a grave, sacred power, and makes 
 everything which once had seemed important appear 
 mere trifles and childishness. Elsa assuredly had gladly 
 grasped the protecting hand which was offered her just 
 at the moment when her little boat began to toss rud- 
 derless upon the wild sea of life. 
 
 " She is a good child, Elsa, God bless her ! " The 
 old lady did not mourn too deeply for the deceased.
 
 A Poor Girl. 179 
 
 She had indeed one regret, she would have been pleased 
 had he been spared to live comfortably for a few years, 
 but God knew best ; they had never been very good 
 friends, he and the Bennewitzer, perhaps he might have 
 disturbed the perfect harmony. And he had always 
 been an invalid yes, yes, he was at peace might he 
 rest sweetly. 
 
 She sat down on one of Frieda's fragile arm-chairs, 
 with a very pleasant " Good morning," and inquired 
 after her little grandson's health in such a bright voice 
 that the young wife's blue eyes rested upon her in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Well, Frieda, dear," she continued, with satisfac- 
 tion, " what do you say to Elsa ? Your late foolish fan- 
 cies have flown, I trust." And she took Frieda's hand. 
 " Listen, my child, a great load is taken off my 
 rnind ; you can probably see it in my face, and when 
 anything pleases me, you know that I like to see others 
 pleased. You may wish for something particularly nice 
 for your birthday, Frieda. Yes ? Well, out with it, 
 what will you have ? Lili, help her." 
 
 The young wife's face did not yet clear, although what 
 she had just heard sounded very promising ; mamma 
 Ratenow's gifts were always noble. 
 
 " You are very kind, dear mamma," came hesitat- 
 ingly from the scarlet lips. " I " 
 
 "Well you have time to think about it, do not hurry. 
 How would it be if you and Moritz were to take a little 
 trip, a season in Baden-Baden, then Switzerland and
 
 i8o A Poor Girl. 
 
 the Italian lakes eh ? I will take care of the children. 
 Well, think it over, my dear. Good morning. I will 
 speak to Moritz about it. Good morning, children." 
 
 Ah, yes ; she knew how to find for every one the 
 right tune to which she would willingly dance, and she 
 also knew that she would never miss the effect she 
 strove for. And so in this case. The two sisters 
 suddenly sat close together on the lounge, and turned 
 over the leaves of the newest fashion magazine ; here 
 was such a pretty, stylish travelling costume if it were 
 made up in different colors, say gendarme-blue. Moritz 
 did not like to travel, it was too inconvenient and he 
 dreaded the expense, for Madame Frieda did not travel 
 cheaply, but now he could not help himself. Travel ! 
 Oh, rapturous word ! Travel Baden-Baden ! 
 
 Moritz was really the only one who continued ob- 
 stinate. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, my boy ? " asked his 
 mother. " How can you take Frieda's foolish jealousy 
 so to heart ? She is on the best way to become 
 sensible." 
 
 He put his hand to his head irritably. " You mis- 
 judge me, mother. I have simply ignored this fancy 
 of Frieda's, although I cannot but admit that her 
 behavior wounds me. It may be that she is partially 
 right ; perhaps I was too prematurely anxious about 
 the girl." 
 
 They walked across the yard together during this 
 conversation. The spring sun bathed the old house in
 
 A Poor Girl. 181 
 
 a golden glow ; the great linden at the gate had put out 
 emerald-green, almost transparent leaves; on the roofs of 
 the farm buildings, the doves sunned themselves in long 
 rows, and suddenly soared up into the air, their wings 
 resembling silver sparks against the deep-blue sky. 
 
 A carriage rolled quickly through the gateway, and 
 stopped before the house door. 
 
 " The betrothed couple, Moritz," said Mrs. von 
 Ratenow, walking more quickly. " Where are you 
 going, Moritz ? " 
 
 The son had taken his cap from his blonde head, 
 and now turned toward the stable. 
 
 " I am going to look after Sultana ; the veterinary 
 surgeon is coming to-day to make another examination 
 of her foot." 
 
 " Strange ! " murmured the old lady, hurrying on, and 
 she overtook the young pair just in the doorway, and 
 pressed the girl's little black-gloved hand. 
 
 She looked strangely, Elsa, so rigid and determined. 
 Good Heavens, her father but this was unnatural ; if 
 she would but weep ! And so she sat in the arm-chair 
 in her aunt's comfortable room, drinking her coffee. 
 The door into the garden-room was open, and the mild, 
 soft spring air blew in on the stone paving of the 
 terrace ; the sun shone hotly, and a few rays fell in 
 well-defined stripes on the floor, while myriads of atoms 
 danced thereon. 
 
 The girl had turned her delicate head, and gazed 
 into the next room immovably, with burning eyes,
 
 1 82 A Poor Girl. 
 
 without speaking a word, without taking the slightest 
 part in the conversation. Why should she ? 
 
 She seemed to herself like one thrust out of a flowery 
 garden into the ice and snow of winter ; she shivered 
 and seemed frozen, frozen to the very marrow of her 
 bones. And from beyond, blooming roses nodded to her 
 and asked : " Why do you let them urge you to this ? " 
 
 And the swallows flew by, chirping : " Is this your 
 courage ? Are you not ashamed ? " 
 
 And she was ashamed, so ashamed that she sprang 
 up and hurried out onto the terrace and down into the 
 garden, through the dear old paths, with flying feet. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. von Ratenow," said the Bennewitzer, 
 when Elsa left the garden-room so suddenly, " is my 
 betrothed ill ? I must tell you frankly that this silent 
 despair worries me. Is it really the. shock at the 
 sudden death alone which has so wholly changed her ? " 
 
 The old lady shook her head carelessly. 
 
 " My dear Hegebach ! The girls of the present time 
 are different from those of our day. Then they were 
 fresh, healthy creatures ; to-day a bit of misanthropy is 
 a part of good tone. And, besides, remember it is 
 the day of the funeral, and in spite of everything she 
 loved her father absurdly, tenderly." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " he asked slowly, settling him- 
 self more comfortably in his arm-chair than he had 
 permitted himself in the young girl's presence. " I do 
 not know. It was principally the expression of the eyes. 
 When I went to her room this afternoon she gave me a
 
 A Poor Girl 183 
 
 look yes, you will call me sentimental, my dear 
 madame, but I cannot forget this look, it was so re- 
 proachful, questioning. A pair of eyes looked at me 
 thus once before, and I could never forget it. It was 
 in Russia ; a young gypsy woman stood by the roadside 
 and begged. My coachman, a rough fellow, gave her a 
 cut over the head with his whip. She did not move an 
 eyelash, but her large dark eyes turned to me ; a world 
 of misery lay in this glance. And a mouth drawn with 
 pain. Those eyes, those questioning, reproachful eyes, 
 were Elsa's when I entered her room to-day. And I 
 I cannot help it, I must say it there is more in them 
 than grief for her lost father." 
 
 " Hegebach ! " came in a tone of the deepest reproof. 
 A very strange feeling overcame the stately woman, at 
 his words. She shook her head and looked at him 
 closely, but she did not know what reply to make. In 
 her embarrassment she picked up the coffee-pot and 
 filled her cup to the brim ; she rose, presented her guest 
 with a cigar, and asked : " Where can Elsa be ? Shall 
 we take a walk in the garden ? " 
 
 They wandered 'down various paths, but did not 
 discover Elsa. Frieda and Lili returned with the 
 children from a walk ; they looked over the wall and 
 saw Moritz riding off. He bowed to them and cried 
 that he was going to inspect the fields. 
 
 " I do not understand where Elsa can be ; she is a 
 strange girl." And "Elsa, Elsa ! " echoed all over the 
 garden, in the lady's strong voice.
 
 1 84 A Poor Girl. 
 
 All was silence. 
 
 "Pray, dearest Mrs. von Ratenovv, leave my fiancee 
 in peace. She seems not inclined to talk, and I can 
 feel for her." 
 
 They walked on in silence. Here and there he 
 stopped and looked at a budding twig and gave the 
 botanical name. The excited woman at his side did 
 not answer. 
 
 " I must take leave early to-day." The Bennewitzer 
 paused and drew out his watch. " Pray give Elsa my 
 warmest love." 
 
 " I will have her looked for, dear Hegebach." 
 
 " No, pray do not ; perhaps she is crying her grief out. 
 Do not disturb her, my dear madam ; I will come again 
 to-morrow. One must never force a liking." 
 
 He called to the gardener who just then passed, to 
 order his carriage, calmly continued smoking his cigar, 
 and spoke of a few very foreign matters. 
 
 "Apropos, dear Hegebach," the old lady interrupted, 
 " what did you say was the name of the Berlin jeweler 
 of whom you ordered the engagement ring ? " 
 
 " Haller & Company," he replied. " It will not be 
 finished before a week." 
 
 " Of course not," she remarked, " because there 
 is always a rush of such business. Thomas, here on 
 Market street, could have attended to it just as 
 well and quicker. But you are like all the rest, 
 Hegebach." 
 
 He smiled but did not answer.
 
 A Poor Girl, 185 
 
 " I believe the carriage drove by," he then said. 
 " Permit me to take leave of you now, until to-morrow, 
 Mrs. von Ratenow ; and greet my sad little Elsa for 
 me." 
 
 He kissed her hand, mounted the terrace steps elas- 
 tically and disappeared into the house. After a while 
 his carriage rolled rapidly over the paved yard. 
 
 " Of course he is vexed," said Mrs. von Ratenow, 
 who still stood at the foot of the veranda steps. " The 
 child behaves inexcusably. Good Heavens, how pro- 
 voking young people are ! She should have been my 
 father's daughter," and she turned and walked up and 
 down the garden path again, with great strides and a 
 very excited face. Very well, she would say nothing 
 more to-day, but to-morrow it was unheard-of to run 
 away so stupidly, and it was even dangerous. 
 
 " And what does that mean that the Bennewitzertold 
 me, that story about her eyes ? Merely that at his age 
 he yet stares at the child like a boyish lover, the soft- 
 hearted fellow ; he was not like that formerly," and she 
 drew her hand over her forehead and for a moment 
 stood still in the dairy, like a ghost, so that the maid al- 
 most fell on her knees in alarm ; she had thought her 
 mistress anywhere but here ; surely she was upstairs 
 drinking coffee with the engaged couple. 
 
 " Well, pray do not swoon," she said in her loud 
 voice. " It is the fashion now ; " and she went from pan 
 to pan, and looked into all the butter-tubs. She was in 
 a bad temper, the mistress. She could not even knit
 
 1 86 A Poor Girl. 
 
 as usual ; she saw continually before her the girl's pale 
 face, and heard the Bennewitzer talk of her eyes. She 
 could not help it, she must speak with her in all kind- 
 ness, but speak with her she must. 
 
 She rose to go upstairs ; then Moritz came and seated 
 himself in his father's easy-chair opposite her, and he 
 had all sorts of matters to discuss with her. His ques- 
 tion: "Has Hegebach gone already?" she answered 
 with a short: " As you see/ and then hurriedly turned 
 the conversation to the state of the crops ; she could 
 not tell him how the girl behaved. 
 
 " Where is Elsa ? " he asked. 
 
 " Probably upstairs. But how did you happen to 
 have Sultana treated by the young veterinary ? I saw 
 him go into the stable a short time ago." 
 
 " I did not want my favorite to wait long, and the 
 older man is ill." 
 
 "Oh, indeed," said she, but she was thinking of 
 something quite different. And then the young ladies 
 and children came in. Lili was so gay and the children 
 so droll, they had a merry time in the twilight hour. 
 When the children at length said good-night it was 
 quite late, and the moon shone brightly upon the roofs 
 of the out-buildings. 
 
 " Will you take tea with us ? " asked Moritz, " and is 
 Elsa coming down-stairs ? " 
 
 "Thank you, no," she replied; " Sophie may bring 
 our tea here ; Elsa is not in the mood, you know." 
 
 " Then, good-night, mother ! "
 
 A Poor Girl. 187 
 
 The old lady rose quickly from her chair ; she must 
 speak with Elsa. She went upstairs hurriedly and 
 opened the door of the girl's room ; it was filled with 
 white light, the windows were wide open, and with 
 the moonlight had crept in a sweet perfume of violets. 
 It was perfectly silent in the room ; nothing stirred. 
 
 " Elsa," she called softly, and looked around the 
 room. There lay the girl on the bed ; the old lady 
 went up to her and bent over her. Really, she slept ! 
 And in her hand she held a little bunch of faded 
 violets pressed closely to her breast. But at the foot of 
 the bed stood the old chest, and half out of it hung a 
 crumpled white gown. 
 
 She knew both gown and bunch of violets, and in her 
 mind she saw the girl before her as she had looked that 
 evening of the dance, with her happy child's eyes. The 
 old lady stood there motionless, she suddenly felt so 
 strangely, felt as she had not for long years. Was this 
 caused by the perfume of the violets and the long-drawn 
 sweet tones of the nightingales floating up from the 
 garden outside ? She crept out into the corridor on 
 tip-toes, and then she stood in her dark room, her hand 
 pressed to her forehead, motionless, for a long time. 
 
 " Nonsense," said she at length, in an undertone, and 
 went to the little table where she kept the matches. 
 And " Nonsense," she repeated again loudly, as she 
 struck a light. " To-morrow morning I will give her a 
 good talking-to."
 
 XIV. 
 
 VERY early in the morning rain had fallen, and the 
 rising sun was hidden by dark clouds, but how green 
 and fresh was the earth ! 
 
 The maids were busy in the kitchen, the men were 
 beginning to feed the cattle, but for the rest the whole 
 house was still, except for a light step which came along 
 the corridor and down the stairs ; through the lower 
 hall and kitchen it hurried, and out into the open air. 
 
 It was very cool, and Elsa von Hegebach drew her 
 veil over her face as she crossed the yard and went out 
 through the gate. The housekeeper, about to enter the 
 dairy, looked after her, shaking her head. 
 
 "I think she must be going to the churchyard," said 
 she to the cook. 
 
 " She had a travelling bag in her hand," said another, 
 and then they went about their work. 
 
 In the stable-door stood a tall, blonde man, and his 
 honest blue eyes followed her gravely. He knew what 
 she was about to do, and he did not move a foot to 
 hurry after her, to detain her. " But where is she going ? " 
 he asked in an undertone ; and so he stood motion- 
 less until the dark figure had vanished at the end of the
 
 A Poor Girl. 189 
 
 driveway. Then he examined his sick horse again, 
 stroked her shining neck, as she looked at him with her 
 intelligent eyes, and when, a half hour later, he slowly 
 crossed the yard to the house, he heard the shrill 
 whistle of a locomotive from the other side of the city. 
 
 " Farewell, Elsa, my poor girl," said he softly. " I do 
 not know whether you have done wisely, but that you 
 have done rightly I am sure." 
 
 It was about nine o'clock when Mrs. von Ratenow 
 sent her maid upstairs to ask Miss von Hegebach to 
 come to her. The old lady sat by the window as usual, 
 looking very grave and a trifle pale. She had had a bad 
 night ; oppressive dreams with all kinds of evil forebod- 
 ings had troubled her. The fatal white gown and 
 withered violets, and the girl's strange manner yesterday 
 had played a great part in them. And to-day, by sober 
 daylight, the old lady had become furious with herself ; 
 she should have waked the girl yesterday evening, have 
 scolded her, and told her that as a bethrothed she 
 should not think of the other. 
 
 And who was this other ? A young fellow like dozens 
 of others, distinguished by nothing but a bit of talent 
 for violin-playing. She must put an end. to it, kindly, but 
 still must put an end to it. 
 
 " The young lady is not in her room," reported the 
 maid. 
 
 " Look in the garden ! " was the command. 
 
 " Oh, mercy ! " The servant stood still. " I do not 
 believe the young lady is there, ma'am. The house-
 
 i go A Poor Girl. 
 
 keeper says that Miss von Hegebach went to the church- 
 yard almost before day this morning." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " The old lady rose. " When was 
 that ? " 
 
 " About four o'clock, madam, the housekeeper says." 
 
 " And now it is nine ! Look in the garden." 
 
 The girl went. Her mistress seated herself calmly 
 in her chair again, and stared out across the yard. The 
 maid did not come. The old lady would not worry. 
 Where could Elsa be ? She would surely come soon. 
 
 " I cannot find Miss von Hegebach," said the servant. 
 " Dora says she had a bag in her hand." 
 
 " Very well, she will soon come 
 
 The girl left the room. For a while, the old lady 
 remained at her post, then went upstairs to the missing 
 girl's room. All as usual nothing was gone but the 
 little portfolio, the crucifix over the bed, and her prayer- 
 book, but as yet she did not notice that. The chest 
 was carefully closed, and when Mrs. von Ratenow raised 
 the lid, there lay the crumpled white gown, carefully 
 folded. " She is coming back again. God knows what 
 she intended doing this morning early." 
 
 Then she went up to the little table under the book- 
 shelves, again ; there lay a letter. " A letter sealed ? " 
 And in a such a scratchy, new-fashioned hand-writing. 
 The old lady must first put on her spectacles. " Mrs. 
 von Ratenow," she read. 
 
 She seated herself and broke the seal, slowly, very 
 slowly, but she had grown white to the lips.
 
 A Poor Girl. 191 
 
 " DEAR, DEAR AUNT: 
 
 " Do not think me too unthankful because I secretly leave 
 your house in which I have been so very kindly treated all my life. 
 No choice remained for me. I stood weaponless and weary, in 
 opposition to you all. I found only sufficient strength to go. I 
 cannot live with a lie in my heart. I could not bring my lips to 
 utter the truth. I wished to yesterday, when I stood with Mr. von 
 Hegebach beside papa's grave and I could not speak a word. I 
 do not know whether you understand me, aunt. I pray to God 
 that you will judge me mildly. 
 
 " I will write to Mr. von Hegebach from D . where I am 
 
 going. I know that he is too noble not willingly to give me back 
 the promise which was forced from me in a moment of paralyzed 
 will and when 1 was half fainting with fear. 
 
 " Good-by, dear aunt. I am and remain always in sincere thank- 
 fulness, 
 
 ' Your deeply grateful niece. 
 
 " ELIZABETH VON HEGEBACH. " 
 
 "P. S. I can easily obtain a position of assistant-teacher in 
 D . Do not worry yourself about my future." 
 
 The trembling hands dropped the letter. " Good 
 Heavens ! how was it possible ? " 
 
 Once more she raised the letter to her eyes as though 
 she could not have read it correctly, then looked at her 
 watch, and rising went to her room as though bowed by 
 a heavy weight. She rang the bell, and with averted 
 face, ordered the maid, "Ask my son to come here." 
 
 " The Baron has gone out riding," was the answer. 
 
 She went into her bed-room and began to gather to- 
 gether all things necessary for a journey. But she 
 always took up the wrong articles, frequently put her
 
 192 A Po0r Girl. 
 
 hand to her head ; finally she consulted the time-table. 
 The train to Halle left at eleven o'clock. 
 
 She rang once more and ordered the carriage, and 
 directed that John was to take a note to the Bennewitzer 
 at once. 
 
 " Mr. von Hegebach is in the city ; I saw his carriage 
 this morning," remarked the girl, timidly. 
 
 Had everything gone wrong this morning ? " Very 
 well," said she again, but her anger began to rise. This 
 was the thanks for all her kindness ! Elsa ran away like 
 a romance heroine ; in her boundless thoughtlessness she 
 thrust from her all that through most unlooked-for good 
 fortune, had fallen to the lot of her, the homeless one ; 
 she compromised herself and the house in which she 
 had found a home. The gentle girl with the mild brown 
 eyes, where had she gotten this unfortunate energy ? 
 But she must not yield to her ; the letter to the Benne- 
 witzer must be prevented at any price. 
 
 She went to her secretary and wrote a telegram to the 
 
 principal of the institute at D , telling her to persuade 
 
 Elsa not to write a line before she had had an interview 
 with her ; she would come by the night train, and 
 begged hospitality. She sent one servant with the 
 sealed dispatch, and wrote to the Bennewitzer he must 
 be found in the hotel, the court-house or the club that 
 he must not come here to-day. They would be forced 
 to deceive him as to the reason, but how hard it was 
 with this honest, sincere nature. She tore the third sheet. 
 Elsa had a headache, she had thought of writing first,
 
 A Poor Girl. 193 
 
 but he would surely learn that she had gone out. She 
 had been forced to leave home suddenly Pah ! where 
 could she have gone ? He would at once know that all 
 was not in order. No, she could not lie. Come what 
 would, she saw no help for it. 
 
 " If Moritz were only here ! " 
 
 "A messenger from Mr. von Hegebach." The girl 
 brought a bouquet of May-flowers for Miss von Hege- 
 bach, and a note to Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 
 " Carry the bouquet to Miss von Hegebach's room," 
 she commanded, and then broke the seal of the note. 
 
 It ran as follows : 
 
 " My intention, my dear madam, to dine with you to-day 
 has unfortunately become impossible to fulfil. I must at once re- 
 turn to Bennewitz, as I expect the building commissioners of the 
 
 M Railway, which is to cross my land. Forgive my haste. I 
 
 hope to be able to pass a few hours with you and my Jiancte' to- 
 morrow in your pleasant home. 
 
 " Sincerely yours, 
 
 " HERMANN VON HEGEBACH." 
 
 " Thank God, a respite is won ! " Mrs. von Ratenow's 
 courage rose again. She could take the eleven o'clock 
 train ; she could surely count upon sister BeataV assist- 
 ance. The girl must not thus trample upon her happi- 
 ness. She continued her preparations. Good heavens, 
 what she had to do for this defiant girl ! How she 
 hated railway travelling ; and she must change cars in 
 Halle. Ah, and the horrible confusion in Halle. Sud- 
 denly a new idea occurred to her ; she had heard the
 
 1 94 A Poor Girl. 
 
 sound of a horse's hoofs, and went to the window. 
 Truly, it was he. 
 
 " Moritz ! " she called loudly. 
 
 He bowed and smiled. " Immediately, mother." 
 
 He attended to all kinds of business first ; she heard 
 him speaking to the gardener in the hall ; at length he 
 appeared. 
 
 " Good heavens, my boy, how slow you are ! " said 
 she, irritably. 
 
 " Were you in a hurry, dear mother ? " 
 
 " It is a quarter past ten, Moritz, and will you do 
 me a favor, Moritz ? You know how I hate to travel 
 
 you go to D , speak to Elsa ; she always thought the 
 
 most of you. You know nothing as yet, Moritz ; do 
 not know that the girl has run away. Or yes ! 
 Moritz, did you know anything of it ? " She looked at 
 him closely. 
 
 He remained so calm in spite of her hasty words. 
 
 " Yes, mother, I saw her go away." 
 
 " Moritz ! And you did not prevent her, did not try 
 with all your might to dissuade her from her crazy, 
 sentimental idea ? " 
 
 There he stood, so large and broad-shouldered. 
 
 " No, mother ! " And he picked up his riding-whip 
 from the table, and twisted it in his hands, as defiantly 
 as when he was a boy, when things went contrary to 
 his wishes. " No, mother. I had no right to do so." 
 
 " Good heavens, Moritz ! " The old lady had be- 
 come crimson with rage.
 
 A Poor Girl. 195 
 
 " No right ! " he repeated. " Neither I nor you, 
 mother ; no one has the right, thank God, by our laws to 
 force a girl to marry against her will." 
 
 " It is simply maddening ! What fine speeches are 
 these ! Who forced her decision in the final moment ? " 
 
 " Every one and everything ! People, circumstances, 
 life and death, mother. And her own heart cried ' No ! ' 
 But no one would hear it." 
 
 "But why, Moritz ? Can you not see the reason ? Is 
 it not madness in her position ? " 
 
 " Reason ? Yes. Do not ask, mother. Who has ever 
 fathomed the mystery which attracts a heart to one and 
 turns it from another ? " 
 
 " You speak like a romance writer, Moritz. Pray look 
 about the world. It is day, bright day ; human life is 
 prosaic, no idyll ; it is a struggle and conflict, and each 
 person must look out for himself." 
 
 " And what turns the wheels is love, mother; and love 
 will not be driven from the world, however the realists 
 may try. Love and fidelity they are in the blood of 
 us Germans, mother." He nodded gravely. " I cannot 
 explain it to you, it requires finer words than I have at 
 my command." 
 
 " Love ? " The old lady burst out. " Love ? " she 
 repeated. " You mean the little Lieutenant. What is 
 he in comparison to the Bennewitzer ? A nobody, a 
 good-for-nothing ; he has drawing-room manners and 
 can play the violin a little voila tout." 
 
 " I merely know that he is an agreeable man," per-
 
 196 A Poor Girl. 
 
 sisted Moritz. " But nevertheless this is a mystery. 
 Love does not ask for outward things, for position, 
 charms; and then a good-for-nothing, mother ? Con- 
 fess frankly that if Bernardi were, well say for example, 
 the Bennewitzer's son, how then ? " 
 
 " Then it would be quite different, my boy. Cease 
 your sentimental nonsense. Will you go ? " she asked, 
 dictatorially. " Will you once more speak to Elsa, lay 
 the whole matter before her? For absurd she 
 certainly can not marry her Bernardi. He has probably 
 long ago forgotten her besides." 
 
 " In one thing I admit that you are right, mother 
 he cannot marry her at present. I do not know 
 whether he has forgotten her, but do not believe so, for 
 this morning Rost's valet brought, in Bernardi's name, 
 a beautiful wreath for the grave. But as to going after 
 Elsa no, mother. I have just given you my opinion, 
 I shall not persuade the child." 
 
 " Good ; then I go ! " 
 
 " Do not, mother dear ; it is not right." 
 
 " Shall she reproach me later when she has become a 
 nervous old governess ? " she asked. " 1 shall do my 
 duty ! " 
 
 " It is useless, mother, especially now, in her fearful 
 excitement." 
 
 " God helps those who help themselves ! " said she. 
 " You are the same old enthusiast ! " And she went into 
 her bedroom.
 
 XV. 
 
 THE express train whirled her along the same road 
 over which she had travelled before, but then it was an 
 autumn foggy evening, and her heart had been full of 
 happy expectation ; now it was a spring morning, and 
 the sun shone in the carriage window so pitilessly, ex- 
 posing every spot and hole in the shabby cushions. 
 The little mirror opposite reflected a pale face with a 
 weary expression about the mouth ; and this was she, 
 Elsa von Hegebach. She leaned back against the 
 cushion exhausted, her eyes gazing unchangedly at the 
 flying landscape. She did not see that the world basked 
 in all the splendor of spring, her young heart was so 
 terribly gloomy and empty. 
 
 Now she had burned her bridges behind her; now she 
 had no one who understood her, no one ! Even Aunt 
 Lott had written in a strang? half-sentimental, half- 
 jubilant tone, that it was a great happiness which had
 
 198 A Poor Girl. 
 
 fallen to her lot, an enviable happiness to have drawn 
 such a prize. Happiness ! People called that, happi- 
 ness ! And what ? To bear the name of a man, to 
 share his wealth, to have no care for the thousand 
 material needs of life that was their happiness ! And 
 for that she must give up everything, her liberty, her 
 thoughts, her hopes, even herself, body and soul ! A 
 nervous shudder overcame her ; she closed her eyes. 
 " Never ! " said she, so loudly that she started at the 
 sound of her own voice, and the old lady opposite her 
 looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 She lowered her lashes without noticing it ; she saw 
 only a dark red glow before her eyes, and in this glow, 
 nearing and then fading away as soon as she tried to 
 see it plainly, a dark curly-haired man's head, with mel- 
 ancholy eyes and a little black moustache. Above the 
 noise of the train, she seemed to hear sleigh-bells, and 
 inhale the perfume of violets. And yet he had turned 
 from her, had deserted her because she was a poor girl ! 
 
 She started suddenly. 
 
 " Dear child, are you ill ? " asked a sympathetic voice, 
 and an old woman's face was bent over her. 
 
 " No, no ! " said she hastily, flushing deeply. " But 
 I did not sleep last night, and ' 
 
 " Pardon me ; you groaned so, my dear young lady." 
 The lady seated herself again and opened a sachel in 
 which lay a number of little bunches of violets. " My 
 grandchildren picked them for me ; may I offer you 
 one ?" And she held out the sweet flowers to the girl.
 
 A Poor Girl. 199 
 
 The little hand grasped them, but she uttered no 
 thanks. The giver merely saw that she hastily drew her 
 black veil over her face, and beneath that, pressed the 
 flowers to her lips ; after a while she thought she heard 
 sobs, but such strange sobs, as though one were weep- 
 ing with dry eyes. "Already unhappiness, and she is 
 so young," she whispered, and looked out of the 
 window. 
 
 All was change on the railway ; at times the carriage 
 was full for a short distance, then it was empty again. 
 And now the old lady left the train. She stood on the 
 station platform, and gazed after it as it slowly rolled 
 away. She would have liked to see the sad childish 
 face again ; in vain, she sat as motionless among the 
 cushions as ever. 
 
 And now slowly, slowly Elsa reached her destination. 
 She stood on the platform of the well-known station ; 
 it seemed to her as though she were dreaming. The 
 blue Thuringian mountains rose in the distance, as she 
 had seen them a hundred times. Ah, the beautiful for- 
 est, the great, broad, solitary forest, how happy she had 
 been when she walked through it ! And here it lay 
 before her, the village with its scrupulously clean streets, 
 the neat old houses in which behind every window 
 bloomed flowers ; down there the plain little church, and 
 near by the shady green churchyard. All so unchanged ; 
 only she only she ! 
 
 Hastily she walked on down the street, past the 
 long fence and through the garden. Not a soul to be
 
 200 A Poor Girl. 
 
 seen thank fortune ! They were all at work in the 
 school-room as yet. The narrow, dazzlingly white 
 stairs creaked softly as the girl ascended. How natural 
 that sounded ! She knew this creak so well. And hark ! 
 Then she heard the canary-bird singing in Sister Beata's 
 room. 
 
 She knocked and slowly crossed the threshold of the 
 little room in her mourning clothes, with the gloomy 
 veil over her pale face. 
 
 " Elizabeth ! " said a deep, calm voice. "Is it really 
 you, Elizabeth ? " 
 
 And a little old woman in the dress of the Moravian 
 Sisterhood came up to her, a pair of indescribably mild 
 eyes gazed into her grief-stricken face. 
 
 " Sister Beata," she tried to say, but she could not ; 
 she merely threw both arms around the old woman's 
 neck, and all the torment of the past few days found 
 vent in convulsive weeping. 
 
 " You are in mourning, poor child ? " 
 
 " My papa " she stammered. 
 
 The little sister pressed her hand gently and led her 
 to an old-fashioned sofa. " First calm yourself, Eliza- 
 beth ; we will talk later. Come, take a cup of coffee. 
 I knew that you were coming a despatch has arrived." 
 
 " From whom ? " The girl looked at the speaker in 
 horror. "What do they want? What does the tele- 
 gram say ? " she added hastily. 
 
 " I must prevent you from writing a letter, child, and 
 then your aunt will arrive this evening."
 
 A Poor Girl. 201 
 
 Elsa sat there silent and trembling. " She will not 
 let me ! " she sobbed at length. " Sister Beata, help 
 me from sinning as only a girl can sin ; save me from 
 ruin ! " 
 
 " Elizabeth, you are beside yourself," said the sister's 
 calm voice reprovingly. 
 
 Elsa was silent, and the hands which involuntarily 
 she had clasped sank in her lap. She gazed gloomily 
 and with close scrutiny at the passionless face before 
 her. 
 
 " Sister Beata," she began, in a totally changed voice, 
 " you told me when we parted that I could always find 
 refuge with you ; that you could always give me 
 employment in your school. I come to-day to ask you 
 for it." 
 
 " It is most opportune, dear Elizabeth. The place 
 of Sister Angelica in the fourth class is free." 
 
 With these words the speaker held out a plate of 
 inviting looking cake to the young girl. 
 
 She declined it, however. " Where is Sister An- 
 gelica ? " she asked. 
 
 " She has gone to Africa. Elizabeth, you should 
 eat; you look so exhausted." 
 
 " To Africa ? As a missionary, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she will assist her husband, who has a school 
 in Natal. The lot fell to her, and so she has gone ; she 
 left three weeks ago." 
 
 It sounded so calmly, it was said so simply, as 
 though Sister Angelica had driven to a neighboring
 
 202 A Poor Girl. 
 
 town. Elsa knew her well, the delicate blonde girl ; 
 and she also knew that the society was accustomed to 
 marry its daughters by lot. She had never thought of 
 it; now it seemed to her something unworthy of human 
 beings. 
 
 "And she was willing to go, Sister Beata ? " she 
 asked, and clasped her throbbing temples. 
 
 " Willing ? That, she probably confided to God 
 alone, but she knows that it is His will ; she went 
 joyfully." 
 
 All was silent in the little room. The air seemed 
 oppressively close, to the young girl. Sister Beata now 
 sat by the table before the window, correcting exercises. 
 " You should rest awhile, Elizabeth ; you look pale and 
 exhausted," said she. The girl shook her head, and 
 going up to her laid her hand on her shoulder. 
 
 " Sister Beata," she began, in a trembling voice, " you 
 told me once not so very long time ago that truth is 
 the only thing that can save us from need and distress ; 
 that it stands above all other virtues." 
 
 The liule head under the snowy-white cap nodded 
 assent, without looking up. " Certainly, dear Eliza- 
 beth ; you were always an honest, good child as far as 
 human intelligence could judge." 
 
 "What I am about to ask you sounds strangely, 
 Sister Beata, but Angelica wore no other image 
 imprinted upon her he?rt ; she did not stand before 
 the altar with a lie on her lips ? " 
 
 Now she looked up, the quiet sister. " No, Elizabeth ;
 
 A Poor Girl. 203 
 
 her heart was like an unwritten page. We live a quiet 
 and secluded life here; the passions which torment and 
 pain foolish human hearts out in the world do not 
 cross our threshold, we scarcely know them from hear- 
 say. You must know that, Elizabeth. What do you 
 mean by your question ? " 
 
 The girl suddenly fell on her knees before her, and 
 buried her head in the folds of the gray woollen gown. 
 
 " I wish I had never gone away from here ; I wish 
 I had never seen him ! " she sobbed. 
 
 "Stand up, Elizabeth, and control yourself." 
 
 The sister stroked the girl's hair compassionately. 
 
 "Help me, Sister Beata," pleaded Elsa, looking at 
 her with tearful eyes ; " help me not to be wicked and 
 deceitful ! Tell my aunt that I must write and tell him 
 the truth at any price." 
 
 " Him Elizabeth ? " 
 
 " Yes ; him to whom I have been betrothed for three 
 days." 
 
 Sister Beata made no reply. 
 
 "You have always been my favorite, Elizabeth," 
 said she, after a moment, "but will you be content 
 here ? Do not think it so easy after having been out 
 in the gay world, to settle down here as a teacher, to 
 have nothing but duty before your eyes and the hand 
 of the clock which points to the hour for work. Once, 
 years ago, a dear scholar came back, weary of the 
 world, sick at heart, and asked for work, begging me to 
 keep her always, always. At first all went excellently ;
 
 204 A Poor Girl. 
 
 she worked to forget her sad thoughts, the quiet and 
 regularity did her distracted nerves good. Then time 
 healed the wounded heart, and health came and allured 
 her back to the fresh, happy, outer life ; her gaze became 
 more and more longing, and one day she said, ' I am 
 going, Sister Beata ; I must go. Here one creeps ; out 
 in the world one flies ! ' And she went. I do not 
 know what has become of her. I only tell you this to 
 make it clear to you that this is no place to heal wounds 
 which the world has inflicted. If you accept the posi- 
 tion, Elsa, you pledge yourself for two years at least. 
 Consider that well." 
 
 She still lay on her knees, and wild thoughts whirled 
 through her brain. Airy garments danced before her 
 eyes, red roses and floating scarfs ; she heard gay music, 
 laughing and singing that was life, that was youth. 
 And, like a colorless picture, she suddenly saw the 
 school-room before her, with its bare wall ; gray, monot- 
 onous gray was the life here, and she was so young ! 
 The sister's last words weighed like lead upon her 
 heart. 
 
 Hark ! From the adjoining room a sound rang out 
 in the silence, clear and vibrating ; a violin was being 
 played in there. A violin ! Suddenly she sobbed again, 
 and pressed her blonde head down on her crossed 
 , arms, which still rested on the old woman's lap. Those 
 were the thorns of the crimson roses, the painful thorns ! 
 
 " I have nothing more outside ; nothing more, Sister 
 Beata ! " she stammered. "I will stay with you."
 
 XVI. 
 
 THERE were spare rooms in the school. The hotel 
 of the little town was very primitive, and occasionally 
 a mother wished to stop over in passing through, to 
 visit a daughter. A room had been opened for Elsa, 
 and the best of these modest apartments arranged for 
 Mrs. von Ratenow. 
 
 The train would arrive at nine o'clock ; and the 
 principal had gone to the station, herself, to receive the 
 stern aunt. Meanwhile Elsa sat in her room, and with 
 increasing dread gazed at the driving clouds, which now 
 covered the moon, now exposed her round full face, 
 for which teasing play she outlined them with silver. 
 What would happen now ? Sister Beata had at length 
 learned all the details of her story, and told herself 
 that the poor child had had no choice. She was 
 sufficiently acquainted with Mrs. von Ratenow, from 
 her decided letters, to know that there would be a 
 harder conflict yet. 
 
 According to Elsa's calculation they must have been 
 back from the station for some time already. Now the 
 two who held the threads of her destiny in their hands
 
 206 A Poor Girl. 
 
 were surely sitting in the cosey sitting-room, fighting for 
 her so-called happiness. 
 
 " Elsa ! Elsa ! " cried a soft voice. " Are you here 
 or not ? " 
 
 She started, and her eyes, accustomed to the darkness, 
 perceived the slight girlish figure in the door, and recog- 
 nized the coquettish spring hat, and the small aristo- 
 cratic face beneath. 
 
 " Lili ? " she asked in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, it is I ! " was the answer. "I imagined that I 
 would find you just this way, looking at the moon, of 
 course ! 
 
 ' Moon, thou art happier than I, 
 Thou seest him, and I see him not ! ' " 
 
 she continued, tearing off her hat. " Good gracious, is 
 there not a sofa here ? I am frightfully tired. Oh, 
 Elsa, this was a wild idea of yours to run away ! " 
 
 " You accompanied Aunt Ratenow, Lili. She she is 
 here ? " 
 
 " Why, of course ! " And the dainty figure threw it- 
 self on the white bed and stretched to her heart's con- 
 tent. " She would have been sitting in all her glory in 
 Halle had it not been for me. Moritz knew that very 
 well, or else he would surely have spared me this journey. 
 The whole compartment full of mothers, nurses and 
 babies, and among them all, stiff as an Indian pagoda, 
 Aunt, on the hunt for you, and I Oh, Elsa, why did 
 you inflict this upon me ? This evening there is a sup-
 
 A Poor Girl. 207 
 
 per at the Cramms', and I am so fond of stewed crabs 
 and asparagus ! " 
 
 Elsa did not answer ; she silently seated herself beside 
 the bed upon which Lili rested and gazed, anxiously in 
 her face, from which, in spite of her complaints, the eyes 
 shone with an expression of the utmost satisfaction. 
 
 "Listen, Elsa; you have furnished excellent matter 
 for gossip in the city," continued the little lady. " I 
 must confess that when Moritz brought the alarming 
 news this morning, and also the order for me to accom- 
 pany Aunt on her pursuit of the fugitive, I had no 
 greater desire than to dine at the officers' mess to-day. 
 I am convinced that the bar-tender will do a flourishing 
 business, in the excitement. One glass after another 
 will be emptied. And Rost will surely have drawn 
 you, probably as a nun behind a lattice, and the Ben- 
 newitzer kneeling before it, with clasped hands, with 
 plumed hat and sword, and beneath written : 'Knight, 
 this heart devotes itself to you in a true sisterly love. ' 
 It is really very modern, the mediaeval German. But I 
 should like to know how you happened to think of this, 
 sweet child ? " 
 
 She received no answer. Elsa stood at the window 
 again. 
 
 " I do not understand you," continued the little chat- 
 terbox. " I find the Bennewitzer wonderfully chic to 
 marry. I assure you if he had wished me au moment ! 
 although I also cherish a so-called love, here." She 
 pointed to her heart. " One must have some one to
 
 208 A Poor Girl. 
 
 think of, you know, Elsa, when one reads poems, for in- 
 stance Geibel or Strachwitz. For that, it is highly 
 necessary, but nevertheless I would have married the 
 Bennewitzer. How charming for him to see me again 
 chained to another ; he must . feel quite like Heine. 
 ' Ewigverlornes Lieb ich grolle nicht! ' One need not 
 be miserable long, that is only for poets ; but it is inter- 
 esting, highly interesting, Elsa ! Elsa, do not be angry 
 with me," the girl suddenly whispered coaxingly, and 
 two soft arms were thrown round Elsa's neek. " I am 
 not as bad as I seem, and if you will promise me not to 
 cry any more do you think I do not see that you have 
 been crying ? I tell you, you have cried your dear eyes, 
 red why, then I will tell you something that will please 
 you mightily." 
 
 " Nothing will please me now, Lili," was the sad an- 
 swer, as she leaned her forehead against the window 
 panes. 
 
 " I have seen him, Elsa," was whispered still more 
 softly, " as large as life and twice as natural ! " 
 
 " My my cousin ? " groaned the tortured girl. It 
 was horrible for her to be forced to hear how he had 
 received this blow from her hand. She saw him so 
 plainly before her, as he had stood beside her at her 
 father's grave, and looked at her so kindly, so compas- 
 sionately. Even then she had raised her hand for this 
 blow, but it had sunk down powerless. 
 
 " The Bennewitzer ? The poor cast-off Bennewitzer ? 
 I do not mean him," continued Lili, leaning closer
 
 A Poor Girl. 209 
 
 against the trembling form. " We girls call only one, 
 the very particular one, him. Nonsense, Elsa, do not 
 be so childish ; you are nineteen years old, and were at 
 boarding-school. Oh, yes," she interrupted herself 
 with a laugh, " with the Moravians ; I forgot. One 
 never learns anything with them, their boarding-school 
 girls are pure, unsophisticated angels at eighteen years 
 old, I suppose. I was at G , and from our school- 
 room we could look out upon the parade-ground, and 
 every one of us called some one down there, him. Well 
 then, I saw him in Halle Elsa, do you understand ? 
 He had his violin-case in his hand, and wore civilian 
 clothes, and well, not exactly of the latest style, but 
 with the military we close one eye at that ; it is more 
 practical in a large city ; for instance, he could drive 
 an omnibus in such clothes without attracting attention 
 through their elegance. Well, Elsa, what do you say ? " 
 
 Elsa did not move. 
 
 "And I spoke to him do not start so, Elsa. Aunt 
 did not see it. She was conferring with the porter on 
 the other side of the platform. I bought the tickets 
 there he stood in the crowd. He is handsome, Elsa, 
 really. I knew him too slightly to address him, had 
 only danced with him once, but I know how to man- 
 age ! Crash ! my umbrella lay at his feet as I passed. 
 Of course he picked it up. ' Oh, thank you a thousand 
 times, Lieutenant Bernardi ! ' He started. ' I am in 
 a great hurry,' said I, mentioning my name, Lili Tees- 
 feld. 'I am going with Aunt Ratenow to D , to
 
 2IO 
 
 A Poor Girl 
 
 catch Elsa Hegebach ; she absolutely wishes to go into 
 a cloister ! ' You should have seen his face. ' Yes, yes, 
 into a cloister,' I nodded, ' because she will not marry 
 her cousin. Good-by, Lieutenant Bernardi ! ' I left 
 him standing, and courageously forced my way through 
 the crowd, but just as I was about to get into the ladies' 
 
 compartment, he stood beside our train, and got into 
 the next carriage. Fortunately, Aunt sat at the window 
 on the opposite side. I needed air very often, so did 
 he, especially at the stations. Meanwhile, Aunt inter- 
 rupted her conversations with the nurses, ' Are you talk- 
 ing to any one, Lili ? ' Whereupon I oh, well, I can
 
 A Poor Girl. 21 1 
 
 look surprised, I assure you. In short he knows all, and 
 I am to be good, very good to you. He said that, as I 
 got out. He went on in the train. And when I tell you 
 that he sent a wreath for your papa's grave, and that he 
 is now going home on leave, I have told you all." 
 
 Elsa had ceased crying. She threw open the win- 
 dow, and leaning out gazed at the garden in all its 
 spring beauty, bathed in the silver moonlight. A 
 nightingale sang sweetly in the linden-tree, and her 
 heart beat almost to bursting. He thought of her ! 
 He had spoken of her on the most miserable day of her 
 young life ! Oh, what great, all too great happiness ! 
 
 And then she drew back, closed the window with 
 a bang, and burying her face in her hands burst into 
 tears. Of what use was it ? She was only a poor girl !
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE little Moravian sat opposite the stately lady, in 
 the simple room. The faces of both were red ; they 
 could not agree. Mrs. von Ratenow had thought to 
 find an ally, but on the contrary had encountered, if 
 not an enemy, yet a power which seemed inclined to 
 remain perfectly neutral, and which, although acknowl- 
 edging the truth of much which the old lady emphasized 
 in her decided way, yet pleaded in favor of Elsa. The 
 calm little person answered her like Moritz himself, al- 
 though, perhaps, a trifle more soothingly. 
 
 " Pray cease, my dear woman," she at last interrupted 
 the sister's gentle speech impatiently ; " we do not 
 understand each other. I see that. You may be right 
 from your standpoint, and, besides, you cannot judge 
 my^ position and the child's. You turn here in a con- 
 tinual circle around your simple interests ; we live in 
 the world, and the world has claims even upon Elsa." 
 
 " But at the price of peace, which is higher than all 
 prudence ! " was the reply. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow rose. 
 
 " I should like to sleep," said she. " I hope that, at
 
 A Poor Girl. 213 
 
 least, you will do nothing against my wishes. Elsa 
 must go home with me to-morrow ; she must." 
 " Certainly, Baroness ; Elsa shall decide herself." 
 " I think I will be able to conquer the defiant girl," 
 added the old lady ; " but tell me, my dear sister, have 
 you a physician and apothecary in the place ? " 
 " Certainly ! Do you feel ill, Baroness ? " 
 " Oh, it will pass ; it is only in case of accident. 
 Sometimes I have an attack which renders me inca- 
 pable of moving ; and the air in the train was horrible. 
 But we will hope for the best." 
 
 " But I will prepare you a little lotion " 
 
 " Oh, not yet, thank you ; only in case of necessity. 
 I have not much faith in such remedies. At home no 
 doctor comes near me. My shepherd is much more 
 reliable ; he can rub and command and conjure away 
 ailments. Why do you stare at me so ? It is true, my 
 dear woman. I will not see Elsa ; I have had enough 
 excitement to-day. Tell her to come to my room to- 
 morrow ; the other girl is probably with her ? Well, 
 good-night, then." 
 
 They had reached the old lady's bedroom, and with 
 the last words she closed the door in the face of the 
 little Moravian. Sister Beata heard her groan once, as 
 though she were in pain. She shook her head, and 
 went on to the next door. 
 
 Miss Lili had seated herself at the table between the 
 windows, was eating bread and butter and soft-boiled 
 eggs and drinking a glass of milk with all the appetite of
 
 2H A Poor Girl. 
 
 youth. Elsa sat near, her eyes red with weeping, and 
 without participating in the meal, watched the moths 
 that were burning their wings over the modest candle. 
 Lili's dainty little figure started up quickly from the 
 chair as Sister Beata entered, and she curtseyed to the 
 grave, simple woman as though she stood before a 
 ruling princess. 
 
 " I come to wish you good-night," said Sister Beata; 
 " to-morrow morning you are to speak to your aunt, 
 Elizabeth ; she hopes that you will accompany her 
 home. I urge you once more to give prayerful con- 
 sideration to your resolve. Good-night, my dear chil- 
 dren ; God protect you ! " 
 
 Lili stared at her with wide-open eyes, then turned 
 to Elsa, who looked sadder than ever. 
 
 " Elsa, is it true ; is there a kind of biscuit here 
 which they call 'brother and sister's hearts,' and, when 
 the dough is extra good, even ' loving brother and sis- 
 ter's hearts ' ? " And she seated herself and went on 
 eating with great satisfaction. " Please, please, let me 
 have a couple for breakfast to-morrow morning, and 
 the ' loving ' kind ; I should be so pleased." 
 
 A smile crossed Elsa's sad face. " You are incor- 
 rigible, Lili," said she. 
 
 " Oh, thank God," cried the mobile little maiden, 
 "you can still laugh ! Oh, Elsa, Elsa," and she knelt 
 down before the girl, " you are all so pious, and have 
 not the least bit of confidence in God ! And yet I know 
 that all will be well with you, I know it very well."
 
 A Poor Girl. 215 
 
 " You know it ? " asked Elsa. 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I cannot explain ; it is in the air, in the spring air, 
 perhaps, in the flowers and foliage out there, where the 
 birds sing and the water ripples. Ah, well, poor heart, 
 forget your torment; it will all, all come right ! " 
 
 Elsa shook her head, and gazed at the fresh, girlish 
 face, whose dark eyes shone with tears. 
 
 "You are surprised at me, Elsa? Have I always 
 seemed so superficial to you ? I tell you quite frankly 
 that I did not trouble myself about you, you were so 
 fearfully tiresome with your grief for your only love, 
 long lost, and so forth you were so terribly passive. 
 But when I saw you so pale and miserable in spite of 
 your fortunate engagement, which every one lauded to 
 the skies, I was sorry for you ; and when you ran away 
 yesterday, you won my whole heart at once, for that 
 was something quite out of the common. Elsa, every 
 one would not do that ; a hundred others would have 
 calmly let the net be tightened around them, and 
 would have become Mrs. von Hegebach. But now 
 rely upon me, Elsa, I will help you and Moritz will 
 help you ; even Frieda is no longer quite so angry 
 with you." 
 
 " Was she angry with me ? " asked Elsa, in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why, child, were you blind ? " cried Lili. " Angry ? 
 She was furious, furiously jealous of you whenever
 
 2i6 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Moritz even mentioned your name. The poor thing 
 had a hard time of it." 
 
 Elsa's pale face had flushed crimson. Suddenly the 
 young wife's manner, which had seemed so puzzling to 
 her, was revealed in a glaring light, as was Moritz's shy 
 avoidance. She groaned in pain, " That also ! " 
 
 "Calm yourself, sweet child; there was a touching 
 scene of reconciliation yesterday between the married 
 couple. Frieda cried like a school-girl, and Moritz 
 asked again and again, ' Do you see, Frieda, how fool- 
 ish you were ? ' And she cried pater peccavt, more 
 gently than I would ever have believed possible in her. 
 And you will come back with us to-morrow, Elsa, will 
 you not ? You will not stay here ? It must be horribly 
 tiresome among all the loving brother and sister's hearts. 
 You see, this is what I think. The Bennewitzer has 
 noticed something ; and if he asks, Moritz will tell him 
 the whole truth, and then the engagement cannot be 
 continued. Come back, Elsa, dear Elsa." 
 
 " No," said the girl, rising, " never ; I cannot." 
 
 Lila was about to answer, when a heavy object was 
 thrown against the door leading into the next room. 
 
 "Old people want to sleep," thundered Mrs. von 
 Ratenow. " Stop talking ; I am worn out ! " 
 
 Elsa silently went to bed. Lili giggled continuously. 
 Aunt Ratenow's resolute character was an inexhaustible 
 source of amusement for her. 
 
 In the night she started up ; the moon shone brightly 
 into the room, and from the other bed she heard soft
 
 A Poor Girl. 217 
 
 sobs. She touched the silky blonde hair, which lay 
 spread over the white pillow. " Elsa, Elsa, are you 
 crying ? " she asked softly. Then all was still. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow was awakened the next morning. 
 A special letter came for her ; the little principal herself 
 laid it in her hands. 
 
 " Merciful Heaven, the Bennewitzer's hand-writing ! 
 How did he learn that she is here ? " Her limbs felt 
 like lead ; with difficulty she raised herself in bed. 
 " Please, Sister Beata, my spectacles I cannot move. " 
 
 The little Moravian handed them to her, and then 
 left her alone. All was quiet in the room ; only the soft 
 rustle of the paper in the old lady's hand was heard. 
 
 They were only a few words which she read, but the 
 reader's face grew white to the lips. Suddenly she held 
 her hand before her eyes ; she grew dizzy. All in vain ! 
 All was over ! 
 
 " Lili ! " she cried ; her voice sounded like a groan. 
 The young girl came quickly, still in her dressing-gown, 
 with loosened hair. " Give that to Elsa, and hurry and 
 dress yourself." She handed her the letter. 
 
 " Do you wish to set out at once, aunt ? Shall I tell 
 Elsa ?" 
 
 " Elsa ? " She started up from the pillows. " What 
 have I to do with Elsa ? Who sows wind must reap a 
 storm ! I hate ingratitude and obstinacy with all my 
 heart." 
 
 " Aunt ! " cried Lili, terribly frightened at the ex- 
 pression of the old lady's face.
 
 2i8 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " Go ! " cried the old lady ; " we leave in an hour." 
 The girl stood trembling before Elsa, who was just 
 
 fastening up her blonde braids. " Elsa ! " she said. " Oh, 
 
 heavens, aunt is so angry, so angry ! " 
 
 The little hand dropped the heavy braids and seized 
 
 the paper. 
 
 " MY DEAR MADAM : 
 
 " In all haste the letter is to go by this mail. I beg you to 
 give my cousin back her liberty in my name. The rest by word 
 of mouth later. Yours sincerely, 
 
 " H. VON HEGEBACH." 
 
 For a moment the girl's chest heaved as though freed 
 from a fearful weight. Then she buried her face in 
 her hands, and a shudder shook her frame. 
 
 " Elsa, Elsa ! " cried Lili, clasping her in her arms. 
 But Elsa freed herself and turned the knob of the door 
 leading to Mrs. von Ratenow's room. The door was 
 locked. 
 
 " Is it you, Lili ? " asked the old lady. 
 
 " No, it is Elsa, aunt," she cried pleadingly. 
 
 All was silence. 
 
 " Aunt," sobbed the girl, her voice half-suffocated. 
 
 Again no answer. Only steps were heard, and hasty 
 preparations for departure. 
 
 " Aunt, a word ! " Her hand pulled and turned at 
 the knob as though in deathly terror. In vain. She 
 gave up her efforts ; for a moment she remained motion- 
 less, her eyes fixed upon the window, then looked at
 
 A Poor Girl. 219 
 
 Lili. It seemed as though she wished to smile but 
 tears rushed to her eyes, and a full consciousness of her 
 desolateness overcame her at this moment. Now in 
 truth she had nothing left her in the world. 
 
 An hour later, Mrs. von Ratenow paced up and down 
 the platform of the railway station, leaning on Lili's 
 arm, as they waited for the train. The old lady was 
 suffering ; one could see that, by the lips so tightly 
 pressed together. She felt far from happy ; she could 
 have wept if she had known how. She had wept once 
 in her life, not when her husband was laid in his grave, 
 but when she had taken a little crying child from her 
 dead mother, in her own arms. " There is no gratitude 
 in the world." And she began to find fault with the 
 train for being so late, with the porters for staring at her, 
 with the despicable coffee at the school, and her aching 
 head ; while Lili walked silently beside her, with a miser- 
 able face and tearful eyes, and turned as often as pos- 
 sible to look back at the pointed gables of the house 
 half-hidden among the trees, as though she must see a 
 window open and a girl's head leaning out gazing over 
 the landscape with longing eyes. 
 
 "And nothing else have I to claim or to keep 
 
 Save only two brown eyes with which I may weep." 
 
 Lili could not banish from her thoughts to-day these 
 words which Elsa had once sung. And then came 
 the train. 
 
 Eight days later a gentleman passed the little lonely
 
 220 A Poor Girl. 
 
 Moravian village, in the express train. The train did 
 not stop, but the young man stood at the window of the 
 coupe, and gazed out as intently as though it were the 
 most beautiful country through which he was being 
 whirled. Then he seated himself, pushed aside a violin- 
 case, drew out his pocket-book and taking from it a 
 letter began to read : 
 
 " MY DEAR BERNARDI : 
 
 "You have placed a pistol at my breast, and although I do 
 not like to write letters, least of all letters of a sentimental nature, 
 I will nevertheless attempt it if it will satisfy you as you say. 
 
 " There is little satisfactory about the matter for you, that is. I 
 confess that my hardened soldier heart was somewhat touched as 
 I thought of a certain ball evening when I felt called upon to give 
 you some good advice. 
 
 " It is really true : little Elsa von Hegebach, one morning very 
 early, left her warm nest in the castle, the most devoted of aunts, 
 and a paternal fianc^, in order to weep in the quiet of a Moravian 
 colony, over I do not know what, perhaps you may. All sensible 
 people, and you know how many such persons our city walls are 
 fortunate enough to contain, shrug their shoulders and smile. It 
 is no longer the fashion nowadays to take to one's heels from a 
 wealthy lover ; romances now begin at the other side of the altar, 
 and then it is so much more piquant. The resolute little girl has 
 drawn down upon herself the greatest displeasure of old Mrs. von' 
 Ratenow, who with her practical views of life, cherishes justified 
 doubts as to her adopted child's sanity. She herself has returned 
 seriously ill from her pursuit. She was carried from the carriage 
 to her bed. According to all reports to-day she is still far from 
 well. 
 
 ' ' I need not assure you that our society, especially the little clique 
 of ladies, have ample material for gossip ; and that the name
 
 A Poor Girl. 221 
 
 ' Bernard! ' is frequently mentioned, you perhaps suspect. And 
 alas, with right ! ' ' Tis that which saddens my heart ! ' says a poet. 
 For what is to come of it all ? It is a pity about the pretty girl, 
 but who is to blame ? It is not your, and not her fault. It is all 
 on account of money, everything depends upon money. Why are 
 you not a wealthy baron, with a half-dozen estates ? Why does 
 man need so much for his pitiful existence ? Yes, why ? I will 
 cease to question ; I am really becoming sentimental. I cannot 
 banish from my thoughts the little girl with the longing brown 
 eyes. You should have seen her the day of the funeral. 
 
 ' ' Do not think that I regret having told you the truth at that time; 
 assuredly not, it was my duty. She will probably forget, even 
 although less easily than others. And do not despair ; you cannot 
 help her. Man is the slave of his circumstances. 
 
 " Farewell, Bernardi. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " VON ROST." 
 
 How often the letter had already been read ; how 
 often? Now it was put back in his pocket, and the 
 owner sat and stared at one spot as though he could 
 there find the answer to the " why ? " contained in the 
 letter. A number of plans passed through the young 
 man's mind ; he gnashed his teeth in mad rage. "The 
 slave of his circumstances " ! 
 
 The train rushed past a station at the edge of a forest. 
 In the warm May sun, under the young leaved birches, 
 sat on the door-sill a young woman with a child in her 
 lap. The man stood at the gates, and the young woman 
 gazed smilingly at the train as it rushed on. Suddenly, 
 bitter envy overcame him. The children of the people 
 love each other, marry, and are happy ; if they have
 
 222 A Poor Girl. 
 
 nothing to eat, they are hungry together as they work 
 together. And why not ? Elsa too would have worked 
 with him, and hungered with him ; he had read that in 
 her dear eyes. Absurd ! The children of rank dragged 
 behind them the heavy velvet robe of duties of their 
 rank, which, made up of thousands of bits and frag- 
 ments, forms a magnificent whole. This robe seems so 
 incomparably comfortable and agreeable to the wealthy, 
 but so weighs upon the poor that only with great diffi- 
 culty is it kept upon the shoulders ; but yet one dare not 
 be seen in these higher circles without it oh, no ! 
 How much misery and grief, how many disappointed 
 hopes, how much renunciation it covers ! 
 
 It is so necessary ! Without this robe, society cannot 
 be thought of, it belongs to it ; it would be absurd to con- 
 tradict this. The majority wear it so easily ; the few 
 who fancy they are suffocating under it pah ! Well, 
 they suffocate, but they finally become accustomed to 
 it. Elsa will console herself ; and for him perhaps 
 there will soon be a war. 
 
 " Elsa will not console herself ! " said an inner voice, 
 " Elsa will mourn away her youth, and become a soli- 
 tary, embittered old maid, the sunny, charming girl." 
 And he pondered on almost feverishly, as for so many 
 previous days. But what could he do ? Should he 
 choose another profession ? 
 
 Then suddenly Mrs. von Ratenow stood before him, 
 and her diamonds sparkled as on that evening. 
 
 " Do you believe that in another calling one can live
 
 A Poor Girl. 223 
 
 on air ? And do you believe that you will be satisfied 
 when you have put off the gay coat ? " 
 
 And now, as countless times before, he fancied him- 
 self a merchant without capital ? A farmer to re- 
 main an inspector for his whole life ? Artist should 
 he increase the throng of those who never rise above 
 mediocrity, and are bitter and depressed because they 
 feel that they will never reach their desired aim ? It 
 sounded pitiless but yet was true. 
 
 Rather would he resign, and seek his fortune across 
 the ocean. But his old father, and his mother who had 
 saved every penny to fulfil his ardent desire to be a 
 soldier! 
 
 Farewell, ye dreams ; farewell, Elsa ! The slave of 
 his circumstances what can a slave do ? 
 
 "He has come back more irritable than he went 
 away," said his comrades, when the next morning, after 
 review, they walked down the street to their barracks. 
 " Foolish fellow ! He really still clings to his unhappy 
 love," added one, smiling ; " incredible at the present 
 day ! "
 
 XVIII. 
 
 IT was again autumn. The wind carried on a mad 
 frolic with the leaves in the castle garden, and the 
 clusters of wild grapes over the veranda were deep 
 purple. A small fire burned on the hearth in old Mrs. 
 von Ratenow's room, and the inmate sat, erect as ever, 
 at the window knitting and gazing into the yard. Her 
 face was no longer so full ; she had changed, her severe 
 illness in the spring had not been without effect upon 
 her. Slowly, slowly she had recovered. She had been 
 in Baden-Baden the past summer, only to be terribly 
 homesick there. Frieda and Lili who accompanied 
 her Moritz had remained at home had had full oppor- 
 tunity to change their gowns three times a day, to take 
 promenades and excursions with their rapidly made 
 acquaintances. She was happy to sit alone in the 
 garden before the house, and hear nothing of the silly 
 noise and commotion. 
 
 At home, things went better. Aunt Lott was there 
 again, and could express herself very plainly when the 
 topic of conversation was Elsa. And Aunt Lott never 
 wearied of referring to this topic again and again.
 
 A Poor Girl. 225 
 
 " You must admit that I am in the right, Lott. The 
 child, in her sinful petulance, has trampled her happi- 
 ness under foot." 
 
 " Yes, my dear Ratenow but " 
 
 " ' But ' ? There is no ' but ' to the matter, I should 
 think. Well, let her eat what she has cooked. To com- 
 promise herself and all of us in such a manner ! " 
 
 " Dear Ratenow, how can you speak so ? " concluded 
 Aunt Lott, tearfully. " How can you refuse to read 
 her letters? She writes so that tears come to my eyes 
 when I merely look at them." 
 
 And no answer followed, but the conversation ended 
 only to be begun and ended in the same manner a few 
 days later. 
 
 Aunt Lott corresponded very industriously with the 
 poor darling. She reported every trifle of castle news, 
 and conscientiously delivered all messages with which 
 Elsa commissioned her. But one of the child's wishes 
 she could not fulfil ; the old lady could not obtain a 
 friendly word from Aunt Ratenow, and she could give 
 Elsa no certainty as to whether the Bennewitzer was 
 too terribly angry with her. 
 
 The Bennewitzer was completely inexplicable. He 
 came to see Mrs. von Ratenow as before, and recently 
 they had played cribbage together. He calmly smoked 
 his cigar in the drawing-room, and once surprised the 
 old lady with the information that he now, like a true 
 grandfather, had provided himself at home with a dress- 
 ing-gown and long pipe. 
 IS
 
 226 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " But my dear Hegebach ! " Mrs. von Ratenow 
 stared at him incredulously, in her eyes he was still so 
 young and handsome ; but nevertheless it seemed to her 
 that the hair on his temples was very gray. He had 
 never asked after Elsa. But when Aunt Lott, who at 
 the girl's request, often visited her parents' graves, 
 reached the mounds, they were always covered with the 
 loveliest flowers ; and the sexton's wife told that the 
 Bennewitzer gentleman had done this. Aunt Lott had 
 learned this with a certain satisfaction, and had thanked 
 him for it. " Why thank me ? " he asked ; " they are my 
 relatives." 
 
 For the rest, everything went on as usual in the 
 castle. Frieda now had a governess for her children, 
 danced and went into society as in the past year. 
 Moritz played his whist and chatted with his mother 
 only the apple of discord was out of the house. The 
 light, girlish tread was no longer heard on the stairs. 
 Elsa could come down stairs so prettily ; it was really 
 no walk, it was rather a flying, the lovely figure was 
 suddenly down-stairs no one knew how. She no longer 
 sang her little songs in the drawing-room, or played 
 hide-and-seek with the children in the deep window 
 recesses. Something was missing ; something lovely, 
 charming. That, all felt, but no one spoke of it. Only 
 sometimes, in the twilight, Aunt Lott fancied that the 
 door must open, and she rush in and call in her 
 clear, ringing voice, " Aunt Lott, dear Auntie Lott ! " 
 And sometimes Mrs. von Ratenow started up as
 
 A Poor Girl. 227 
 
 though she heard that voice, but anxiously and plead- 
 ingly, " Aunt, only a word, a word ! " and then she 
 felt so strangely, half-angry, half-mournful. 
 
 No ! If anything were now to be made of the girl 
 she must be stern with her. The Bennewitzer was 
 assuredly of her opinion ; and perhaps she would yet 
 become submissive in that melancholy nest. 
 
 To-day the house was quiet ; Frieda and Lili had 
 come to show themselves to the old lady in their 
 elegant silk gowns, with their flowers and laces in all 
 the splendor of gala toilets ; both dressed alike in pale- 
 blue and silver down to their dainty slippers. They 
 held huge bouquets in their hands, and the yellow 
 gloire de Dijon roses adorned their dark hair and 
 corsages. 
 
 Annie Cramm was to be married to-day. 
 
 The wedding was to take place at three o'clock, the 
 dinner at four, and the whole city was on the qui vive 
 to see the bridal party enter the church. There were 
 such fabulous rumors of the splendor which was to 
 be seen ; and Aunt Lott had sat in the church since 
 half-past one so as to secure a good place. 
 
 Old Mrs. von Ratenow was quite alone ; she thought 
 of the pair who were probably at that moment being 
 married, and what an unenviable wife Annie Cramm 
 would make, however much brocade and lace she might 
 wear. What a commonplace arrangement it was ; a 
 marriage without the slightest mutual interests. Well, 
 they had wished nothing better, and could pass life
 
 228 A Poor Girl. 
 
 very comfortably ; at least they would have no cares. 
 And her thoughts flew to Elsa ; she saw the girl be- 
 side Bernardi, and heard her laugh. Involuntarily her 
 imagination replaced the other couple, who were now 
 probably occupying the seats of honor at the abun- 
 dantly-spread table in the bride's home, with these two. 
 And suddenly this table stood yonder in the hall, and 
 she sat opposite them, and 
 
 " Such nonsense ! " She coughed quite loudly and 
 began to knit. But the picture was so attractive ; it 
 came back to her mental view. Could there be any- 
 thing more beautiful than such a young, newly-married 
 couple, who loved each other with all their hearts ? 
 
 " Yes, yes ; Elsa was really no worse than Annie 
 Cramm, only she had no money. Nonsense ! One 
 must adapt oneself to circumstances ! " 
 
 Gradually twilight came on. A carriage rolled into 
 the yard. 
 
 " The Bennewitzer ? Oh, I thought he would be at 
 the dinner ! " But he came in and kissed her hand. 
 " What then ? " she asked. " Is it over already ? " 
 
 " Oh, not at all, my dear madam ! " And he drew 
 his chair quite near the old lady's window seat. " I 
 only desired to talk with you, to lay bare my heart to 
 you." 
 
 She pricked up her ears at last he spoke. She 
 could excuse Elsa, she could good heavens per- 
 haps she dared not finish even in thought. 
 
 " The dinner truly was excellent and the wines
 
 A Poor Girl. 229 
 
 exquisite. One must acknowledge that old Mr. Cramm 
 has taste. The bridegroom certainly behaved strangely 
 for one so lately married ; at dessert he suddenly left 
 his fairer half and seated himself beside me." 
 
 " Strange, assuredly ! " agreed the old lady. 
 
 " Yes ; was it not ? He does not talk badly, has 
 sensible views and seems practical." 
 
 " He has proved that to-day," remarked Mrs. von 
 Ratenow, dryly. 
 
 " Eh ? Oh, yes well chacun ct son godt. He spoke 
 of Elsa to-day." 
 
 At length her name had crossed his lips. 
 
 " She sent a little present yesterday. But it was not 
 of that that I wished to speak with you, dear Mrs. 
 von Ratenow ; pardon the digression." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow looked at him in surprise. Had 
 the Bennewitzer taken too much of the " exquisite " 
 wine ? 
 
 " I do not know whether you can put yourself in my 
 place," he continued, smoking comfortably. " I hardly 
 believe so or yes ? Women have an advantage ; they 
 are more sympathetic than the so-called stronger sex. 
 I feel so indescribably lonely. I do not know for whom 
 I live and work. My whole house has a melancholy look 
 to me, as though every chimney-place opens its mouth 
 in a monstrous yawn, and asks me : for what purpose 
 am I here ? It cannot go on longer thus, my dear 
 Mrs. von Ratenow, for it makes me mentally and 
 physically ill." He was silent for a moment. "But I
 
 230 A Poor Girl. 
 
 have Bennewitz on my shoulders, and so I have thought 
 of once more " 
 
 He was silent. The ashes had fallen from his cigar 
 upon his clothes ; calmly he brushed them off. 
 
 " Marrying ? " the old lady completed his sentence 
 anxiously. 
 
 " No ! " said he shortly, leaning back in his chair. 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow turned and looked at him. It was 
 now quite dark ; she could only see that he was looking 
 past her and out of the window. 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; I think of doing something quite 
 different, something which does not concern me so 
 nearly, and in which I need fear no harsh rejection for 
 that is painful. You know no one is without vanity, 
 and in spite of all prudent reasoning, a sting remains." 
 
 The old lady sat in breathless expectation. 
 
 " I wish once more to try to bind a young life to 
 mine, but in another manner I wish to adopt a child." 
 
 It flashed upon the old lady like lightning. 
 
 " Hegebach, you would you could ?" cried she 
 joyously. Then she paused. "But girls were pro- 
 hibited from inheriting ? " said she doubtfully. 
 
 " Girls ? Who spoke of a girl ? " he asked. 
 
 No answer ; only a quick, deep breath. The man was 
 right ; why had Elsa behaved so unwarrantably. But it 
 is bitter, bitter ! Oh, the unhappy child ! 
 
 " What do you say to my plan, my dear Mrs. von 
 Ratenow ? "
 
 A Poor Girl. 231 
 
 " Excellent ! " she replied with difficulty ; and grief 
 for the poor girl, who now must really make her way 
 through life alone, extinguished almost all anger in her 
 heart. 
 
 " But now I must search for a suitable person," said 
 the Bennewitzer. 
 
 " You will find many applicants." 
 
 " Oh, assuredly ! " He laughed shortly. " A little 
 bit of wealth makes them spring up like mushrooms 
 after a rain. It would be really delightful to find 
 people who would say ' No ! ' Eh ? But in any case I 
 will submit my choice to you for approval, and I shall 
 begin my search at once. Apropos, how is my cousin?" 
 
 " I I do not know ; I suppose she is well," answered 
 Mrs. von Ratenow. The Bennewitzer's manner fairly 
 enraged her to-day. 
 
 " Good heavens, my dear madam, you are not angry 
 with her still ? It is wrong in you, really ! Do you 
 know that I have in thought asked the child's pardon a 
 thousand times for our sins against her ? Yes, I say our, 
 my dear Mrs. von Ratenow ; you, my cousin, and I sinned 
 against her. Our only excuse is that we meant well." 
 
 " Of what use is that to her ? " thought the old 
 woman. 
 
 " I must take leave of you now." He rose. " You 
 think I am doing right, do you not ? One must have 
 some one to love and care for." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear Hegebach ; and may you never 
 regret it."
 
 232 A Poor Girl. 
 
 And when the door had closed behind him, the old 
 lady remained standing in the middle of the room. 
 " Either he has taken too much wine, or he has become 
 a trifle crazy in his old age ; they are all slightly crazy, 
 the Hegebachs." That same evening she wrote a letter 
 to Elsa. The poor child ! To be deprived of every- 
 thing ! But it was her own fault. It was a strange 
 letter, half reproachful, half tender, and containing the 
 request that the girl would soon return. 
 
 The old lady did not close her eyes that night. The 
 next day she went about with a very thoughtful air ; at 
 dinner she scarcely spoke a word, and yet the principal 
 topic of conversation was the Bennewitzer's newest 
 project. 
 
 " The man is perfectly right," said Moritz. "Of 
 course he wishes to leave his property to a man of 
 whom he is fond, and who is legally entitled to it; other- 
 wise it will revert to the government. But he could 
 leave Elsa something from his private property," he 
 added. 
 
 " Yes," assented Aunt Lott. " It is an ignoble re- 
 venge to thus leave her to her fate, for he is her 
 cousin." 
 
 " As though Elsa would accept it ! " Lili drew down 
 her little mouth scornfully. 
 
 " Oho ! " said Mrs. von Ratenow, who until then had 
 been silent. " She will know now very well what it means 
 to look out for herself ; she will gladly accept it, but he 
 would be a fool to give it, I think."
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 2 33 
 
 " You do not believe that yourself, mother," said 
 Moritz, taking her hand. 
 
 Mrs. van Ratenow had ordered her carriage imme- 
 diately after dinner. To her son's great amazement it 
 stopped before the steps. 
 
 "Where are you going, mother dear ? " he asked as 
 the old lady came out in her fur cloak and hood 
 the autumn day was cool followed by a servant with 
 wraps and lap-robe. 
 
 " To drive," she replied shortly. 
 
 Moritz did not answer ; he knew her manner too well ; 
 she had something particular in view. He respectfully 
 helped her into the carriage, but was forced to suppress 
 a smile. It was such disagreeable weather which had 
 enticed his mother out to drive. 
 
 The carriage rolled out of the yard ; Mrs. von Rate- 
 now was still busy in wrapping herself up warmly. At 
 the city gate she threw off the wraps and looked out of 
 the window. " Drive to Biistrow John but a little 
 more quickly."
 
 234 A Poor Girl. 
 
 The carriage rolled along in the dictated direction ; 
 the young fruit-trees at both sides of the road skimmed 
 past the solitary woman's gaze ; the autumn wind rat- 
 tled the carriage windows ; far in the distance the 
 Biistrow church-tower rose above the tree-tops. It all 
 looked so dreary, the autumnal landscape under the 
 cloudy sky ; and John drove on. Close to Biistrow his 
 mistress ordered him to stop. 
 
 " Is that the road to Bennewitz ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, madam ! " 
 
 " Drive there, John." 
 
 John turned and drove quickly, for the first drops of 
 rain fell, and from the black clouds one could see that 
 the storm would be severe. In ten minutes, John drew 
 up before the stately old gabled house. A servant 
 sprang out and helped Mrs. von Ratenow to alight. 
 
 " It is I, Seeben," she nodded to the surprised old 
 man. " Is the master at home ? " 
 
 " Yes. Will the Baroness come in ? " 
 
 "You may drive to the stable, John," she ordered 
 the coachman, and entered the house. She was well 
 acquainted with it from former times, but, nevertheless, 
 she was surprised at its air of comfort and elegance. 
 What a beautiful house in the course of years the Ben- 
 newitzer had made of the neglected old rattle-trap ! 
 And what a splendid estate the so-called sandbank 
 had become under his management ! 
 
 " Foolish Elsa ! " she murmured, as she stood in the 
 drawing-room, so elegant, cosey, and comfortable, as
 
 A Poor Girl. 235 
 
 only a man can make his surroundings when he has 
 taste, a sense of the beautiful, and abundant means at 
 his disposal. 
 
 " I will tell the Baron at once," whispered the ser- 
 vant, and drew one of the soft easy-chairs to the fire. 
 " He is engaged for the moment." 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow seated herself and gazed at the 
 large picture over the chimney. " His first wife," she 
 said to herself. " Hegebach always had good taste," 
 she thought, looking at the woman's figure, which 
 seemed stepping out of the frame towards her. A 
 queenly-looking figure in a soft white gown, her head 
 slightly thrown back, so that her face was shown in 
 profile ; in the background the Bennewitz house was 
 visible through the trees. On the mantel-piece, at the 
 foot of the picture, was a. jardiniere filled with rare and 
 fragrant roses. 
 
 " He surely loved her very dearly," thought the old 
 lady ; " and would it not be hard for her successor to be 
 forced to share her husband's attentions with the dead. 
 Ah, he will never marry again ! " 
 
 She was roused from her thoughts, for loud conver- 
 sation was heard in the adjoining room. Immediately 
 after the door opened, and a lady of about forty years 
 entered, followed by a slender, handsome boy of per- 
 haps fifteen. They passed Mrs. von Ratenow, with a 
 silent bow. She looked after them with varied feelings, 
 half astonished, half disappointed. Suddenly she shook 
 her head and murmured, " Ah, indeed ! " as though
 
 236 A Poor Girl. 
 
 she had discovered something important, although 
 hardly agreeable. She felt decidedly uncomfortable 
 and believed that her coming here had been useless, 
 that she herself and all that she wished were terribly 
 superfluous. 
 
 Then the Bennewitzer stood before her, and drew 
 her hand to his lips. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. von Ratenow, to what do I owe the 
 unusual honor of a visit from you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do not wonder that you ask, Hegebach. It 
 is strange in me so suddenly to fall upon you ; is it 
 not ? " 
 
 " It is charming, my dear madam ! " 
 
 He pressed her down in her chair again, and seated 
 himself opposite her. 
 
 " I cannot stay long, Hegebach. I am afraid that I 
 disturbed you in an important moment." 
 
 " Not at all ; the matter was already arranged," he 
 replied. 
 
 " He is a handsome boy, Hegebach." 
 
 " The one who just passed through here ? " he asked. 
 " Oh, a splendid fellow ! " 
 
 " He is, indeed ! " she assented. Then they were 
 silent ; the Bennewitzer had gone to ring the bell. 
 
 Now he returned. " I am very glad that you have 
 come, Mrs. von Ratenow," he began ; " otherwise I 
 should probably have gone to you. I am uneasy and 
 excited ; you know why. It is a step which is not to 
 be considered unimportant. Suddenly to wish to place
 
 A Poor Girl. 237 
 
 a stranger at your side ; to expect of him all that which 
 only the ties of relationship are justified in demanding, 
 love, consideration, reverence ; to be to this stranger all 
 that one had been to one's own children it is some- 
 thing peculiar, my dear madam, and it is not easy ; do 
 you think so ? " 
 
 The old lady nodded. Her thoughts still dwelt upon 
 the boy who had passed through the room shortly be- 
 fore. She could no longer be in doubt. " Pardon me, 
 Hegebach," she began, drawing a deep breath; "was 
 the handsome little fellow one of the candidates for the 
 position of your son ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " The one who with his mother " 
 
 " Oh no, no, my dear Mrs. von Ratenow ! I am his 
 guardian and am greatly interested in him ; he was my 
 poor Henry's best friend, but " 
 
 " Forgive me, Hegebach ! " 
 
 Mrs. von Ratenow drew a fresh breath. 
 
 " But I have entered into negotiations elsewhere 
 already, and await news hourly." 
 
 The old lady again writhed with uneasiness. "Well, 
 my dear Hegebach, I wish you all happiness ! " Sud- 
 denly she rose ; it was already quite dark. " I must 
 hurry home ; they do not know where I am ; there is no 
 need for me to remain longer you will pardon me, 
 Hegebach. I came to make you a proposition I had 
 a plan. Now it is too late. I meant no harm, Hege- 
 bach."
 
 238 A Poor Girl. 
 
 He did not answer. All was silence in the room; only 
 the heavy silk rustled as she fastened her mantle, and 
 the clock ticked softly. 
 
 " Good-by, Hegebach. You know old women love to 
 pry into other persons' affairs, but it was well meant." 
 
 He followed her silently to the door. " Why in such 
 haste ? " he at length asked, constrainedly. " Will you 
 not take some refreshment, my dear Mrs. von Rate- 
 now ? " 
 
 She declined. She had already seized the door knob ; 
 then she drew back a step. The old servant entered 
 with a lamp, and handed the Baron a despatch. 
 
 " A moment, my dear madam," he urged, and going 
 up to the lamp, tore open the envelope. " Read it ! " 
 said he then. " I am again unfortunate," and he handed 
 her the paper. 
 
 She raised her eye-glass, and read : 
 " Declines ; persuasions useless. 
 
 " VON HOST." 
 
 "What does that mean ? " she asked hastily. 
 
 " A refusal from the son of my choice." He had 
 paled. 
 
 Aunt Ratenow stared at the despatch ; her eyes 
 shone. She read the name of the place from which it 
 was sent, she read the signature, and her old heart beat 
 joyously. 
 
 " And you are very anxious for this one ? " 
 
 " For this one, just for this one," said he ; " very 
 anxious ! "
 
 A Poor Girl. 239 
 
 "Give me power, Hegebach. You scarcely know 
 him ; let me " 
 
 " I really do not know him at all/' said he ; " one 
 fact alone determined me to choose him, that " 
 
 " Hegebach ! " The old lady went up to the man 
 still standing beside the table, his hand resting upon it 
 as if in deep thought. " Hegebach ! " She wished to 
 continue, but suddenly began to weep. Sh wept for 
 joy, and was immediately angry with herself for shed- 
 ding such copious tears. Nothing was more vexatious 
 to her than to be discovered in an act of soft-hearted- 
 ness, and she dried her eyes resolutely and began to 
 scold. " I really should leave you to your own devices, 
 Hegebach; really ! What a sly fellow you are ! But it 
 is always thus, my dear man, when two of the so-called 
 stronger sex put their heads together to accomplish 
 something very clever. Rost ! He must have talked 
 well ; you could not find a better ambassador ! Why 
 did I learn nothing of this ? Confess, Hegebach ! " 
 
 He smiled. " We wished to surprise you, dear Mrs. 
 von Ratenow, for you surely had not thought of 
 him." 
 
 " Indeed ? " said she, laughing amid her tears. " But 
 nevertheless, old Mrs. Ratenow is the best one to attend 
 to the matter now." 
 
 Yes, that she was. Late in the evening Moritz learned 
 that his mother wished to set out on a journey the next 
 morning. She did set out, and returned after three 
 days. Then the Bennewitzer came, and they left to-
 
 240 A Poor Girl. 
 
 gether. This time the others at least learned their 
 destination ; they went to Berlin. 
 
 " Mamma wishes to procure a son for the Benne- 
 witzer as she was unsucessful in obtaining a wife for 
 him," declared Frieda. " If I could only explain one 
 fact satisfactorily, Moritz " 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 " I always thought that mamma was anxious to marry 
 him off merely for Elsa's sake. But why she assists 
 him in adopting a son is a mystery to me. It does not 
 concern her, eh, Moritz ?" 
 
 Moritz was ungallant enough not to answer. He 
 merely whistled softly to himself. 
 
 In the evening Von Rost and his bride came to the 
 house. Outside it rained and stormed, but Frieda's 
 blue boudoir was delightfully cosey. 
 
 They had soon returned from their wedding trip. 
 Annie had already travelled extensively, and the weather 
 was bad ; besides Rost had made out such a remarkable 
 route. Instead of going to Vienna, he had taken his 
 
 young wife to the obscure town of H , and then he 
 
 had vanished for a half-day completely. " To buy a 
 horse," he had told Annie afterwards; for with the cavalry, 
 horse-dealings were undoubtedly justifiable even on a 
 honey-moon. Annie related this, half laughing, half 
 vexed. But the monster had capped the climax by 
 taking her to Berlin, " to Berlin, which I know as well 
 as my native city. Then I lost patience. Do you know, 
 we saw your mother-in-law there ? " she concluded.
 
 A Poor Girl. 241 
 
 " Yes, mamma has a secret mission there." And 
 Frieda shook her head. 
 
 " The Bennewitzer was also in Berlin," said Annie. 
 
 " Bernardi also sent his regards to every one," inter- 
 posed the young husband, adjusting his eye-glass to 
 look at Frieda. 
 
 " In Berlin ? " cried she, with unfeigned astonish- 
 ment. And Moritz laughed in his sleeve. Then he 
 excused himself ; he wished to meet his mother at the 
 railway station. 
 
 "So, my boy," said she, as an hour later she sat be- 
 side her son in the carriage, which rolled quickly along 
 through the dark winter evening to the castle. " Now 
 all is arranged. But it took great trouble in all direc- 
 tions. Will you believe it, Moritz ; Hegebach even had 
 to apply to the Emperor. What absurd laws men have 
 made to render life more hard ! In a few weeks the 
 Bennewitzer will have a son, Moritz ; and what a son ! " 
 
 16
 
 XIX. 
 
 f IjLSA VON HEGEBACH was just leaving 
 the school-room. 
 
 It was winter. The little Moravian 
 village lay solitary. Through the bare branches of the 
 trees one could plainly see the distant mountains which 
 already had snow on their summits. In the school-room 
 wood fires crackled and the lamps must be lighted early. 
 Around and ahead of Elsa rushed perhaps thirty little 
 girls, sprang about in the freshly-fallen snow in the 
 garden, with true delight, and immediately began a 
 heated combat with snow-balls. The young girl re- 
 mained standing in the house door, watching the flying 
 balls and the romping children. A smile crossed her
 
 A Poor Girl. 243 
 
 pale face ; she had also once frolicked thus. She drew 
 in a deep breath of bracing cold air ; it did her good 
 after the close school-room. 
 
 Then she crossed the garden to the rear of the house, 
 and mounted the creaking stairs ; now she was alone in 
 her room, and the best hour of the day had arrived for 
 her. Then she read or wrote letters, or sat at the win- 
 dow, gazing out into the distance, and thought. Yes, of 
 what does one think when one is alone, and nearby a 
 violin sings old sweet melodies ? And Miss Brown, the 
 English teacher, was accustomed to play all sorts of 
 music on her violin. Sometimes Elsa could not bear to 
 hear it ; those were the days when heartache and long- 
 ing overcame her with full force, the days when she 
 thought she could not bear life. Then her poor head 
 and heart ached, and her eyes pained from hopeless 
 weeping. And she asked herself why she alone was 
 miserable, so miserable ? 
 
 Then she fled from the tones of the violin, and ran 
 out into the storm and rain, how far she did not know. 
 Or she went to Sister Beata's room, and sat there silently 
 for hours. 
 
 " I cannot listen to the violin, Sister Beata." 
 
 " But I will give you another room, Elizabeth." 
 
 " No, no ! " she replied hastily. 
 
 To-day, as if sunk in thought, she stood before the 
 simple bureau, whose upper drawer she had pulled out. 
 She took up several papers and seated herself with them 
 at the window. She read them again, these letters which
 
 244 A Poor Girl. 
 
 she had received perhaps eight weeks ago, and which 
 had given her such food for thought. 
 
 " DEAR ELSA : 
 
 " You know that I was not angry with you for my sake, but 
 because you acted against your own interests, and not well. How- 
 ever that cannot be changed ; you must bear what you have brought 
 upon yourself, and God will surely provide for you, although I am 
 not pious enough to believe that our whole path of life is already 
 mapped out by Him like an architect's plan, even while we are 
 infants. 
 
 " That is a belief for Turks ! 
 
 "I say God gave us intelligence that we might act and judge. 
 You have not used your intelligence rightly, but allowed your fool- 
 ish heart to conquer you. The consequences are worse than I 
 expected, but a truce to this ! You will learn them soon enough, 
 and will not be spared remorse 
 
 " Now I beg you, Elsa, to come back again ! You shall not lose 
 your home. Free yourself from your engagement there. You 
 are needed here, and the bread offered you is not the proverbial 
 bread of strangers which has seven crusts. 
 
 " I think you will come soon ; the winter evenings are long, and 
 I should like to have you read to me as you did last year. God 
 bless you ! Always your loving, 
 
 " AUNT RATENOW." 
 
 She shook her head. " No ! " said she aloud, and 
 laid aside the letter. " I am no trained poodle which 
 jumps over a cane held out to him. No ! " 
 
 She sat still for a while, then took up the second 
 letter ; it was in Lili's scrawling handwriting. She 
 glanced over the description of Annie Cramm's wed-
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 245 
 
 ding, and her eyes rested on the conclusion of the 
 letter: 
 
 " A telegram from Bernard! also arrived," she read. " But 
 now wonder, Elsa ; the newly-made husband seems to have con- 
 ceived a remarkable liking for the Bennewitzer ! He suddenly 
 
 left his dear wife, and seated himself beside him, directly oppo- 
 site me. They chatted away briskly but most impolitely, in an 
 undertone. During the time, I could not take my eyes from the 
 Bennewitzer. Finally they shook hands and separated. The Ben- 
 newitzer disappeared after the supper, and, as I learned later, 
 went to see Aunt Ratenow. But now, Elsa, comes what I really
 
 246 A Poor Girl. 
 
 wanted to tell you. I have no more hope, for the Bennewitzer 
 intends ' retiring.' Do you know what that means in such a 
 case ? He has already bargained for a grandfather's chair ; he will 
 never marry again. He is about to adopt a son ! Your aunt 
 says this is very sensible, but at heart she is raging, that I can see, 
 for she had intended, my love, that you should reside at Ben- 
 newitz. 
 
 " And her leaving you in D refusing to forgive you that 
 
 was only a last effort ; she wished to tame you by hunger. This 
 is the state of affairs. 
 
 " Ah, dearest Elsa, I fear we will both die old maids, and I 
 have no talent for it like Aunt Lott ; she is a born old maid " 
 
 Yes, that she was ! Aunt Ratenow had wished to 
 tame her, now the Bennewitzer had drawn a stroke 
 through the reckoning himself, thank God ! No, no, 
 aunt had always meant kindly toward her, but go back 
 to her never ! She thought of all the wakeful nights, 
 the wretched hours which she had passed there, 
 and then the recollections " No ! " She unfolded a 
 third letter, which she had wrjtten herself ; it was the 
 draft of her answer to Aunt Ratenow : 
 
 "Mv DEAR AUNT : 
 
 " Accept many thanks for your kind words which have pleased 
 and relieved me unspeakably. It was very hard for me to have 
 incurred your displeasure, and only the consciousness that I did 
 right, upheld me in all the sad days which followed your depart- 
 ure from here. Accept my warmest thanks for the love which 
 you have always shown me, and which again to-day has been 
 proved to me. How could I ever forget what you have done for 
 me ! But do not think me defiant and ungrateful. I remain here 
 I feel that work is the only thing which can console me for the 
 painful experiences which I have had during the last year "
 
 A Poor Girl. 247 
 
 She dropped the sheet. Had she not written too 
 bitterly ? she asked herself. But who picks sweet fruit 
 from a sickly, broken tree ? Her pen had involuntarily 
 traced these words. 
 
 She folded the letter again, and sat there quietly. In 
 the next room the violin was being played upon. Miss 
 Brown seemed very melancholy to-day ; she had begun 
 with " Home, sweet home." 
 
 She was a lanky, sandy-haired, freckled woman, and 
 her eyes wore a perpetual look of homesickness. Her 
 favorite hours were those of twilight, when she could 
 play her violin, she had told Elsa ; and Elsa closed her 
 eyes and to these sounds dreamed of another hand 
 which handled the bow in such a masterly fashion, of 
 tones which were indescribably sweeter and softer. 
 
 How vivid it all was ! There was the Hungarian 
 dance, and now how did the English woman come by 
 the German folk-song ? 
 
 " Ah, who in this world is like me left to pine. 
 No father, no mother, no fortune is mine; 
 And nothing else have I " 
 
 She began to weep again. Where did they all come 
 from, these tears ? 
 
 Now some one mounted the stairs outside ; who could 
 it be coming stumbling up in that fashion ? Probably 
 the lamp was not yet lighted in the hall. Some one 
 passed her door, heavily ; it sounded like a man's tread. 
 There was a knock at the door of the next room ; the
 
 248 A Poor Girl. 
 
 violin-playing ceased. " Come in ! " she heard Miss 
 Brown call, and immediately after, " Dear me ! " and a 
 man's deep voice asking apologetically for information. 
 
 " The next door if you please, sir," said Miss Brown, 
 in her broken German. 
 
 Suddenly Elsa stood in the open doorway, and tried 
 to pierce the deep twilight with her gaze, her hands 
 pressed tightly against her beating heart. " Moritz ? " 
 she asked softly and doubtfully. 
 
 " Elsa, my dear Elsa, where are you hiding ? In 
 this Egyptian darkness one cannot see one's hand before 
 one's face. Yes, my dear girl. You did not expect me." 
 
 Yes, that was Moritz's well-known voice. They stood 
 in the little room. Elsa could not yet understand it. 
 
 " Moritz, you ? " Her trembling fingers lighted the 
 lamp, and now she gazed into his face. 
 
 " Yes, I ! " And he took off his overcoat upon 
 which the snow-flakes began to melt, and held out 
 both hands to her. " What does he want now ? You 
 ask yourself this, eh ? He has come to fetch you, you 
 runaway. Without you I dare not present myself at 
 the castle again." 
 
 She shook her head, and gazed at him with eyes 
 which told of many tears. He smiled and seated him- 
 self comfortably upon a chair near the stove. 
 
 "Only for a few days' visit, Elsa. Mother must speak 
 with you. She cannot travel, or else she would have 
 come herself. She is not yet quite herself ; she was very 
 ill in the spring. Therefore she sent me now."
 
 A Poor Girl. 249 
 
 " Aunt wrote to me some time ago," said Elsa. 
 
 "And you answered her. I know it." 
 
 Elsa flushed. " I could not do otherwise, Moritz ! " 
 
 "Mother asks nothing more of you, Elsa, than to 
 come with me. You are perfectly free to return here 
 again at any moment." 
 
 " I do not know, Moritz, whether I can " 
 
 " You can, Elsa ! Only dress yourself warmly and 
 come." 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Moritz ? So, without all 
 preparation ! " 
 
 " Oh, I have been conferring with Sister Beata for 
 an hour down-stairs ; all is arranged." 
 
 " I do not want to go," said she, defiantly. 
 
 "Of course not," he replied; "or why are you a 
 Hegebach ? Defiance is inbred in that family." 
 
 " Moritz ! " Her tears came again. " I have been 
 nothing but a trouble and vexation to every one since 
 I came into the world against my inclination, but so 
 it is ; to my father, your mother, and you ; yes, Moritz, 
 you too ; and you were always so kind. Leave me 
 here ; ah, leave me here ! " 
 
 Suddenly he laughed so heartily and loudly that the 
 violin hushed, as if alarmed, in the next room, in the 
 midst of a brilliant cadenza. " You dear, foolish girl," 
 said he, and took her in his arms. "So you know that, 
 too ? Well, to calm you, Frieda first proposed that I 
 should and must fetch you. Aunt Lott offered, but 
 Frieda insisted. Are you satisfied now ? Well, cry ;
 
 250 A Poor Girl. 
 
 you have fifteen minutes' time for it. And meanwhile, 
 for the sake of science, I will test your famous liquor 
 in the tavern. In a quarter of an hour I shall return, 
 Elsa. And pray give me a light ; that old ladder 
 positively endangers one's life in the darkness. Good- 
 by. 'Be ready ! " 
 
 She seated herself defiantly ; she would not. Who 
 could compel her ? What right had they to drag her 
 away from her difficultly won peace ? And so there 
 she sat when Moritz returned. 
 
 His honest blue eyes looked pained and surprised. 
 Then he took out his watch and placed himself beside 
 the stove. 
 
 " Ten minutes more," said his lips, but his eyes said, 
 " I had not expected this ! " 
 
 She rose, took from the wardrobe her jacket and a 
 few articles of clothing, which she placed in a sachel. 
 Then she stood still and gazed around the room ; again 
 " I cannot ! " rose to her lips. And then suddenly she 
 found herself down-stairs ready for her journey, and 
 gave Sister Beata her hand. 
 
 " God keep you, Elizabeth ! " 
 
 " I shall come back soon, Sister Beata." 
 
 " If God pleases ! " said the gentle little woman. 
 
 It was snowing, and the frosty air fanned the girl's 
 forehead. 
 
 " Have you wrapped yourself up warmly, dear ? " 
 asked Moritz, anxiously. She nodded, and walked 
 beside him in silence.
 
 A Poor Girl. 251 
 
 They were just in time. Elsa did not know how she 
 got into the bright, warm railway carriage so quickly. 
 
 "It is a fast train," said Moritz, as they started. 
 " We have only five hours ; at eleven we will be at home." 
 
 At home ! The girl turned away and gazed out of 
 the window. She had a depressing feeling of false 
 submission, of weakness of character ; it made her 
 wretched. He noticed plainly that she did not feel 
 happy, and wished to entertain her. 
 
 "I know scarcely any news to tell you, Elsa," he 
 began. " The Rosts entertain a great deal. Madame 
 Annie distinguishes herself by her style and costumes, 
 and Lili is on the verge of betrothal, as she writes my 
 wife. It is an old love, I believe. Her father-in-law 
 has until now bitterly opposed the match. It is a 
 school boy and girl affair but you probably know 
 this now fortunately he has obtained a good position 
 in Heidelberg, and she has carried her point, the little 
 witch who always seemed so flighty." 
 
 Elsa looked up but said nothing, she felt even more 
 sad. 
 
 "Yes, and the Bennewitzer has carried his point. 
 Will you permit me to smoke, Elsa? Thanks. And 
 he possesses an adopted son. Are you too warm, Elsa ? " 
 
 " Yes ; please open the window." 
 
 " Mother was forced to put in her word," he con- 
 tinued, and blew his cigar smoke comfortably into the 
 air ; " he probably would never have succeeded had she 
 not assisted him. Now he seems quite satisfied."
 
 252 A Poor Girl. 
 
 " I am glad," said she, speaking almost for the first 
 time. 
 
 " He is about to have a grand celebration of this 
 event. You can imagine that he is again the talk of 
 the town, Elsa." 
 
 Yes, of course ! And she too, probably and she 
 had been foolish enough to come back with Moritz ! 
 She wrapped herself closer in her shawl, drew her veil 
 over her face and leaned her head back among the 
 cushions. She was very angry with herself. 
 
 And the train rushed on, and Moritz slept. The 
 nearer she came to her destination the more anxious 
 she became, inexplicably anxious. It seemed like a 
 dream to her when she seated herself in the carriage ; 
 like an old, sad, and yet so sweet dream. The coach- 
 man's " Good evening " had sounded so pleasant to her, 
 and the little coup smelled so deliciously of Frieda's 
 favorite perfume. Happy old recollections overcame 
 her ; her heart beat joyously. She could not help it. 
 
 She stood in the lofty hall, half dazed ; and Moritz 
 made excuses for Frieda because she was not waiting 
 to receive them. She was probably asleep, and his 
 mother also, but Aunt Lott was waiting upstairs, and 
 in Aunt Lett's doorway stood a dear little figure with 
 outstretched arms. 
 
 " Ah, thank God, Elsa, my own darling, that you are 
 here ! " was the welcome she received ; and the weep- 
 ing, little aunt clasped her in her arms. " Oh, how 
 lovely that you have come ; now all is well ! "
 
 A Poor Girl. 253 
 
 How she could talk, dear Aunt Lott ; and she forced 
 her to drink some warm tea, while the girl sat there 
 silently, and only at length said, " Do I not smell 
 violets ? " 
 
 " That is only a fancy, Elsa ; that is the perfume of 
 recollection yes, yes ; oh, I know that ! " 
 
 And the old lady forcibly put the girl to bed ; she 
 must sleep, she must be fresh for to-morrow, she looked 
 so pale. And then Elsa lay in bed and looked around 
 the room, which the snowy winter night filled with a 
 dim twilight. The dying fire flickered in the tiled stove, 
 there stood the chest, there the doll house ; it was all so 
 indescribably cosey and homelike. And then dream 
 and reality began to blend with each other, and she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 It was bright day when she waked, and the sun shone 
 into the pleasant room. It surely was filled with the 
 fragrance of violets. 
 
 She looked about her, she could scarcely realize where 
 she was ; then she started up from the pillows. Mrs. 
 von Ratenow sat on the edge of the bed, and gazed 
 at her solemnly, with a huge bunch of violets in her 
 hand. 
 
 '' Good morning, you lazy Elsa ! " 
 
 " Oh aunt, forgive me," stammered Elsa, in embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 " I am glad that you have come, little girl, and now 
 give me your hand. So then, no more defiance and no 
 more enmity, eh ? She never meant unkindly, the old
 
 254 A Poor Girl. 
 
 aunt. You must surely know that. And now she begs 
 your forgiveness if she tormented and pained you. Do 
 you know what it means when an old woman like me 
 says to a chit like you, ' I beg you not to be angry 
 with me' ?" With these words she drew the girl tenderly 
 toward her, and patted her cheek, while the bunch of 
 violets fell upon the counterpane. 
 
 " They are from the Bennewitzer, Elsa," said she. 
 
 Elsa suddenly grew very pale. 
 
 " Yes, really, Elsa ! And I have a message for you 
 too. But dress yourself quickly ; meanwhile I will wait 
 in Lett's room." 
 
 With anxiously beating heart the girl dressed. No, 
 it was not possible, they could not be preparing a new 
 blow for her oh, no ; Moritz said he had an adopted 
 son ; it was probably only a reconciliation with him. 
 
 Then she entered Aunt Lott's pleasant sitting-room. 
 " Oh, a lovely winter day ! " said the latter, pointing out 
 of the window. 
 
 " Just the weather for sleighing," said Mrs. von Rate- 
 now. " How would you like to have a sleigh-ride, Elsa ? 
 But come now ; are you ready, Lott ? We are to break- 
 fast together to-day, Elsa, with Moritz." And she 
 took the young girl's arm, and went out into the corri- 
 dor with her. 
 
 " Well, I cannot help it, Elsa dear, I must tell you," 
 said she, as they walked down the corridor ; " the Ben- 
 newitzer sends his most cordial greetings the old one, 
 of course ; the younger dares not yet and he promised
 
 A Poor Girl. 255 
 
 your father on his death-bed to care for you, shield and 
 protect you, so he must keep his word. As you refused 
 to be his wife, he hopes perhaps it may be more to your 
 liking to be his daughter-in-law. But child do not be 
 so violent. What is the matter with you ? Hold her 
 fast, Aunt Lott ! " 
 
 But that was no longer necessary. Suddenly Elsa 
 leaned as though unconscious, against the old lady's 
 shoulder, just as she opened the drawing-room door. 
 
 " Elsa, Elsa ! She usually is so brave, and now her 
 courage fails her. Yes, yes, the Bennewitzer's son 
 plays the violin ; he is a fine talented young fellow." 
 
 Suddenly Elsa stood alone in the beautiful room ; she 
 had clutched the back of one of the high arm-chairs, 
 and listened with failing senses. It could not be pos- 
 sible ! All that aunt had said, all that rang in her ears, 
 and whispered of a wondrous, unbounded happiness 
 no, it could not be ! 
 
 Then it ceased abruptly, the playing ; and hurried, 
 joyous footsteps came toward her, and then a voice 
 said, " Elsa, what is happiness if it is not this 
 hour ? " 
 
 All was silence in the adjoining room. Aunt Rate- 
 now went to the portieres, drew aside the folds for a 
 moment, and looked through. Then she turned back 
 to the Bennewitzer ; nodding gravely she gave him her 
 hand, and both stood at the window and gazed out into 
 the garden. 
 
 " Tic-tac, tic-tac/' said the little clock ; no other
 
 256 
 
 A Poor Girl. 
 
 sound was audible, not a word from the next room, 
 only once a soft sob. 
 
 " Ah, well, pray show yourselves, children ! " cried 
 
 
 Moritz at length ; the time seemed unending to him. 
 Then they came, and a girl glowing with happiness 
 threw her arms around the Bennewitzer's neck.
 
 A Poor Girl. 257 
 
 " Cousin ! " she sobbed " have you forgiven me ! You 
 are too good, much too good to me." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, child," said he gently. 
 
 " How shall I thank you, cousin ? " 
 
 " By coming soon to Bennewitz, Elsa. It is so lonely 
 there." 
 
 " She did not want me really she did not want me ; 
 confess it, Elsa ! " And Bernardi drew her from the 
 Bennewitzer's arms to his breast. " She said she was 
 only a poor girl ! "
 
 WORTHIXttTOW COMPANY'S 
 
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 NEW EDITION, NEW PLATES. 
 
 ALICE ADVENTURES IN WONDER- 
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 Above are the most charming fairy tales of the igth Century. Exquisitely amusing, deliciously 
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 AYTOUN. Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers. By 
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 BAILEY, PHILIP JAMES. />^.- A Poem. 
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 BON GAULTIER'S BOOK OF BALLADS.- 
 
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 BURTON (Dr. J. Hill). The Book Hunter, uith 
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 CAMPBELL (Sir George, M. P.). White and Black. 
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 CHILD'S OWN BOOK OF FAIRY TALES. 
 
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 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING'S 
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 lections from their Works, and Biographical Sketches 
 and Personal Reminiscences. Numerous illustra- 
 tions. 8vo, cloth, gilt extra, $2.00. 
 
 To the hosts of admirers of these great authors this work will prove of absorbing interest, as it 
 contains many reminiscences never before in print. Considerable space has also been devoted to 
 their public speeches, and short, characteristic selections are given from their best works. 
 
 LA FONTAINE'S FABLES. Translated from 
 the French by Elizur Wright, Jr. Illustrations by 
 Grandville. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, $1.50. 
 
 La Fontaine's Fables there is magic as well as music in the name ; they have been deservedly 
 popular for years, and they will be read with ever increasing pleasure by young and old, " as long 
 as the world rolls round." This is the only moderate priced translation of these charming fables 
 published. 
 
 LE BRUN (Madame Vigee). Souvenirs of. With 
 a steel portrait, from an original painting by the 
 author. 2 vols. in i, crown 8vo, red cloth, gilt 
 top, $1.75. 
 
 "An amusing book, which contains a great deal that is new and strange, and many anecdotes 
 which are always entertaining." It is written IT a reminiscent and chatty Jtyle. and relates many 
 'choice tid-bits" of the distinguished historical persona jes with whom the authoress was acquainte-l
 
 LOUDpN'S COTTAGE, FARM AND VILLA 
 
 Architecture and Furniture. Containing numerous 
 Designs for Dwellings, from the Villa to the Cottage 
 and the Farm, each design accompanied by analyti- 
 cal and critical remarks. Illustrated by upwards of 
 2,000 engravings. In one very thick vol., 8vo, $7.50. 
 
 One of the most useful books on architecture ever issued. Gives valuable hints to anyone con 
 emplaung building either villas, cottages, or outhouses, and may save thoughtful and practical mei 
 hundreds of dollars. 
 
 MACAULAY'S LAYS of Ancient Rome. With 
 all the antique illustrations and steel portrait. Beau- 
 tifully printed. 4to, cloth, extra gilt, $3.50 ; do., do., 
 full gilt and gilt edges, $5.00; do., do., I2mo, cloth 
 extra, $r.oo. 
 
 When the famous historian issued these lays, which have since become classics, it was a 
 literary surprise, for no one thought that he was also a poet of such high degree. His poetry is the 
 rythmical outflow of a vigorous and affluent writer, given to splendor of diction and imagery in 
 his flowing prose. Stedman said of this volume, " the lays have to me a charm, and to almost every 
 healthy young mind are an immediate delight." 
 
 NAPOLEON. Las Cases' Napoleon. Memoirs of 
 the Life, Exile, and Conversations of the Emperor 
 Napoleon. By the Count de Las Cases, with 8 
 steel portraits, maps, and illustrations. 4 vols., I2mo, 
 400 pages each, cloth, $5.00 ; half calf extra, $10.00. 
 
 With his son the Count devoted himself at St. Helena to the care of the Emperor and passed 
 his evenings in recording his remarks. Commenting in a letter to Lucian Bonaparta on the 
 treatment to which Napoleon was subjected, he was arrested by the English authorities and sent 
 away and imprisoned. 
 
 NAPOLEON. O'Meara's Napoleon in Exile; or A 
 Voice from St. Helena. Opinions and Reflections 
 of Napoleon on the Most Important Events in his 
 Life and Government in his own words. By Barry 
 E. O'Meara, his late Surgeon. Portrait of Napo- 
 leon, after Delaroche, and a view of St. Helena, 
 both on steel. 2 vols., i2mo, cloth, $2.50; half calf 
 extra, $5.00. 
 
 Mr. O'Meara's works contains a body of the most interesting and valuable information-, 
 information the accuracy of which stands ummpeached by any attacks made against its author. 
 The details in Las Cases' work and those of Mr. O'Meara mutually support each other.
 
 NAPIER'S PENINSULA WAR. The History 
 of the War in the Peninsula. By Major-Gen. Sir 
 W. F. P. Napier. With 55 maps and plans of bat- 
 tles, 5 portraits on steel, and a complete index. An 
 elegant Library Edition. 5 vols., 8vo, $7.50 ; half 
 calf, $18.00. 
 
 Acknowledged to be the most valuable record of that war which England waged against th 
 power of Napoleon. The most ample testimony has been borne to the accuracy of the historian's 
 statements, and to the diligence and acuteness with which he has collected his materials. 
 
 NELL GWYN, The Story of, and the Sayings of 
 Charles the Second, related and collated by Peter 
 Cunningham, F.S.A. With fine portrait and n 
 extra engravings. 8vo, cloth extra, $3.50. 
 
 An exceedingly interesting memoir relating to the times of Charles II. Pepys in writing about 
 Nell Gwyn called her " Pretty witty Nell," was always delighted to see her, and constantly praises 
 her excellent acting. Cunningham states that had the King lived he would have created her 
 Countess of Greenwich, and his dying wish to his brother, afterwards James II., was : "Do not let 
 poor Nelly starve." 
 
 PICTURESQUE IRELAND, Descriptive and 
 Historical. Comprising 5o full-page engravings on 
 steel of its picturesque scenery, remarkable antiqui- 
 ties and present aspects, from original drawings by 
 W. H. Bartlett, and a complete account of its cities, 
 towns, mountains, waters, ancient monuments, and 
 modern structures by Markinfield Addey. 2 vols., 
 4to, cloth extra, gilt edges, $10.00 ; or in half 
 morocco extra, gilt edges, $20.00. 
 
 These two handsome volumes will make the reader better acquainted with the picturesque 
 features of the " Emerald Isle " than any work that has ever preceded it. Only by a combination 
 of b)th pen and pencil was it possible to give an idea of the beauty of Ireland, its marvelous lakes, 
 mountains and valleys, romantic streams, mysterious round towers, giant's causeway, waterfalls, 
 stately castles, magnificent religious and public edifices, etc., etc. 
 
 PURITANS. History of the Puritans and Pilgrim 
 Fathers. By Professor Stowell and Daniel Wilson, 
 F.S.A. In i vol., 8vo, cloth, $1.75. 
 
 Stowell and Wilson's history is acknowledged everywhere to be the best and most exhaustive 
 history of the Pilgrim fathers. A full and complete account of the rise of the Puritans under the 
 Tudors to their settlement in New England, which is herein given, makes this a most valuable wortr 
 of reference and study.
 
 STAUFFER (Frank H.). The Queer, The Quaint, 
 The Quizzical. A Cabinet for the Curious. With 
 full index. 8vo, cloth extra, $1.75. 
 
 " Oddities and wonders. 
 
 Antiquities and blunders, 
 And omens dire ; 
 
 Strange customs, cranks and freaks, 
 
 With philosophy in streaks" 
 
 are all to be found between the covers of this book. It certainly is the completes! collection of odd 
 and curious events ever made. 
 
 TAINE, H. A. History of English Literature. 
 Translated by H. Van Laun, with Introductory 
 Essay and Notes by R. H. Stoddard. 4 handsome 
 volumes. Cloth, white labels, $7.5o. 
 
 It is the book on the subject, the more wonderful that, written by a French critic, it should be 
 accepted by English-speaking people everywhere as the authority on the literature of their own 
 language, universally prized for its clearness, terseness and comprehensiveness, and yet as 
 interesting as a work of fiction. 
 
 THE APOCRYPHAL NEW TESTAMENT, 
 
 Being all the Gospels, Epistles, and Other Pieces now 
 extant attributed in the First Centuries to Jesus 
 Christ, His Apostles and their Companions, and 
 not included in the New Testament by its compil- 
 ers. Translated from the original tongues, and now 
 first collected into one volume. With numerous 
 quaint illustrations. T vol., 8vo, cloth, red edges, 
 81.25. 
 
 As a literary curiosity thi- work has excited the greatest attention all over the Christian world. 
 There is nothing in it contradictory of those truths which have been accepted as revealed, but every 
 chapter and verse goes to confirm the undoubted writings of the apostles and evangelists. 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. Leaves of Grass. Original 
 edition. Year 85 of the State. Foolscap 8vo, 
 cloth extra, $3.75. 
 
 We offer here the Fine Original Edition of Whitman's Poems. Recognition of the wonderful 
 power and chart// in his rugged verse has been freely given by all who appreciate the grand and 
 beautiful in poetry. The " Good, Gray Poet " is gaining admirers daily; his Leaves of Grass is 
 destined to live forever as a representative classic of a oold ad rythmic style of versification 
 peculiatly his own.
 
 WATERS (Robert). William Shakespeare For- 
 trayed by Himself. A Revelation of the Poet in 
 the Career and Character of one of his own 
 Dramatic Heroes. By Robert Waters. i vol., 
 
 $1.25. 
 
 In this able and exceedingly interesting book on Shakespeare, the author shows ) ow the great 
 poet has revealed himself, his life, and his character, besides refuting conclusively the ciphers of 
 Donnelly and other Baconian theories. Altogether the best life of Shakespeare, remarkably well 
 written in vigorous English. "An original, wholesome, scholarly, and plainly sincere book on 
 Shakespeare. It is after all something new about Shakespeare, which Lowell feared could not be 
 said." E. C. STEDMAN. 
 
 WILSON'S NOCTES AMBROSIAN^. The 
 
 Noctes Ambrosianae, by Prof. Wilson, J. G. Lock- 
 hart, James Hogg, and Dr. Maginn. A revised 
 edition, with Steel Portraits, and Memoirs of the 
 authors, and copiously annotated by R. Shelton 
 Mackenzie, D.C.L 6 vols., crown 8vo, including 
 " Christopher North," A Memoir of Prof. Wilson, 
 from family papers and other sources. By his 
 daughter, Mrs. Gordon. Cloth $9.00; half calf $i 8 oo. 
 
 This series of imaginary conversations were supposed to have taken place between Christopher 
 North (Wilson), the Ettrick Sheperd (Hogg) and others in the parlour ofa tavern kept by one Am- 
 brose in Edinburgh, hence the title Noctes Ambrosianae. A too literal interpretation is not to be 
 given to the scene of these festivities, however, but the true Ambrose's must be looked for only 
 in the realms of the imagination. It is one of the most curious and original works in the 
 English language, a most singular and delightful outpouring of criticism, politics and descriptions 
 of feeling, character and scenery of verse and prose, of eloquence and especially of wild fun. It 
 breathes the very essence of the Bacchanalian revel of clever men. Prof. Wilson is a writer of the 
 most ardent and enthusiastic genius whose eloquence is as the rush of mighty waters. 
 
 YOUNG FOLKS' HISTORY OF THE RE- 
 BELLION. By William M. Thayer. Illustrated. 
 4 vols., i2mo, cloth, $5.oo. 
 
 Fort Sumter to Roanoke Island. Murfreesboro' to Fort Pillow. 
 
 Roanoke Island to Murfreesboro'. Fort Pillow to the End. 
 
 A faithful history of the late war, which by its' attractive presentation is especially adapted to 
 youthful readers. Its narrative is full of dash and adventure, the military events are recited vividly 
 and thrillingly, it is interspersed with individual heroism, suffering and daring, and on the whole 
 renders a better account of the war and its causes than any other bocfc that we are acquainted with. 
 The author's style is perfect al all times, either delicate, pathetic, or picturesque, but always in 
 simple language that any young reader can fully understand. 
 
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