Frau Taun looked gravely across at Ernestine. She ceased to anticipate tableaux vivants,--nothing could be done with such material. And then the conversation at table! She really could not expose her young guests to listen to anatomical treatises.

Herbert noticed the breach that had been made in Frau Taun's good opinion, and hastened to throw a bombshell into it. "She has not the slightest sense of refinement."

The ladies in the vicinity nodded assent.

Heaven be thanked! this combination of beauty and learning was wanting in what they possessed in fullest measure, and she had already succeeded in making herself disagreeable to the gentlemen who had been so impressed by her appearance.

One lady plucked the sleeve of her neighbour. "See her sit with her elbows upon the table!"

"How coarse!"

"There now, see how quickly you have made enemies of all these people," whispered old Heim. "You are not wrong from your point of view,--but where is the use of battering so at the door of a house where you have been received as a guest? If you wish to associate with mankind, you must not go about treading upon their toes."

"I do not wish to associate with these people," said Ernestine.

"Oh, yes, you do! You must wish it. Do you suppose that you need no help, no support,--that you can get along entirely alone in the world? How unpractical! how terribly exaggerated!"

"I do not understand you, Father Heim."

"I don't suppose you do----"

Angelika here interrupted the conversation, saying, as she handed Ernestine a plate of apricot crême, which was greatly lauded, "You must eat some of this, Fräulein Ernestine. I made it myself, and I am very proud of it."

"You have just heard how Fräulein von Hartwich despises the noble art of cookery. Don't pride yourself upon it before her," sneered Moritz.

Angelika compassionated Ernestine's mortification at these words, and, while the other ladies were deep in a discussion regarding the preparation of the delicious crême, she said kindly, "You are quite right in lamenting that we women attach so much importance to such things, but they are part of our daily life, and we cannot entirely ignore them. Why did God give us organs of taste, if we are not to enjoy the flavour of our food? It is so natural to try to make the life of those whom we love pleasant, even by the most trivial means, amongst which are justly ranked eating and drinking."

"Forgive me for asking the question," said Ernestine, "but could not their enjoyment be equally well secured by the hands of a cook while you were employing your time with something better?"

"Yes," cried Angelika, amid general amusement, "if we had the money to pay eighty gulden for an excellent cook. But, as we have not, one must either superintend matters one's self, or put up with bad cooking. And you would not have a poor man, coming hungry and tired from his day's work, do that. No, I assure you, when I see Moritz enjoying something that I have prepared for him myself, it gives me almost as much pleasure as it does to feed a child."

Ernestine looked at her blankly. This was entirely beyond her horizon.

Angelika continued: "But indeed it does not make us servants. A service rendered for love cannot degrade,--voluntary obedience is not slavery. We must be guided by some one in life,--why not by a husband who protects and labours for us?" And she held out her hand to Moritz.

"But," said Ernestine, "if we learn to labour for ourselves we need be beholden to no one,--dependent upon no one."

"Oh," said Angelika, with a charming smile and a roguish glance at Moritz out of her large innocent eyes, "we cannot do without them, these stern lords of creation,--at least I could not live without Moritz, if I were ever so rich and wise."

Loud applause greeted this frank declaration; it seemed as if a sudden breath of fresh air were admitted into a sultry, closed apartment,--all breathed more freely. Angelika's genuine sunny nature was a relief to every one, after the distorted, gloomy views that Ernestine had broached.

"And you expect to bring that fool to reason?" whispered Moritz to Johannes.

"Yes," replied the latter curtly.

"Well, I wish you all success. I would not win a wife at such a price."

Supper was ended. The Staatsräthin rose from table, and the company adjourned to the adjoining room, where punch was served.

Johannes silently conducted Ernestine thither. His duties as host then compelled him to leave her. She stood alone in the middle of the room, looking around for some one to whom she might turn. No one came near her. The ladies whispered together, casting occasional glances in her direction, and the gentlemen stood about in groups, either turning their backs upon Ernestine or eyeing her through their glasses. She stood alone, as upon the stage before an audience. She did not know what to do. It seemed cowardly and undignified to flee for refuge to a corner, and yet this cross-fire of keen eyes was as hard to endure as it had been years before at the Staatsräthin's. What did her intellect or learning avail her now? She was as much shunned, despised, and misunderstood among people of refinement and culture as by the peasants. What fatality was it that thus attended her? Who would solve the riddle for her?

An unexpected end was put to her torment. Elsa glided up to her upon Möllner's arm.

"Fräulein Herbert wishes to be presented to you," he said.

Ernestine gazed in amazement at the strange flower-crowned elderly child, and took with some hesitation the damp, withered little hand held out to her.

"I begged my--our friend--" she looked round, but Möllner had again joined the other guests--"to make us acquainted with each other, because I feel myself so strangely drawn towards you. Your observations upon the brain impressed me greatly,--for I too am wild about natural science, and am myself half scientific. I dote on phrenology. I am a disciple of Schewe's, whose striking diagnosis of my characteristics converted me to Gall's theory. Heavens! what a delight it would be to discuss this subject with you, who have studied the brain so thoroughly! I am sure we should understand one another. You must let me examine your head--so remarkable a head for a woman. What a treat it will be for me! Come,--pray sit down."

Ernestine made an impatient gesture of refusal.

"What! you do not wish it? Oh, don't be afraid that I shall prove an enfant terrible and tell what I discover. I never tell tales."

"I am not afraid of that," replied Ernestine bluntly. "If you could discover my character from the shape of my skull, there would be no need of your silence. I have nothing to conceal. But I take no interest in such nonsense."

"Nonsense do you call it?" cried Elsa, clasping her withered hands. "Then you do not believe in Gall's doctrine?"

"What do you mean by believe?" said Ernestine. "I do not believe in anything that has not been proved, and when anything has been proved I do not believe it,--I know it. Gall's theory is like Lavater's physiognomy, an hypothesis based upon coincidences, fit only to amuse idlers, but not worthy the attention of an earnest labourer in the cause of science."

"Oh, you cut me to the heart," sighed Elsa, who saw the scientific nimbus with which she had crowned her brows thus falling off like a theatrical halo of gold-paper. She was greatly offended. She had meant so well,--for Möllner's sake she had conquered herself and attempted to make a friend of Ernestine. He should see how her wounded but self-renouncing heart would open to her rival. She had been so glad not to come quite empty-handed to this learned woman; for, as far as she had understood the anatomical conversation at table, it coincided wonderfully with Gall's theory, which she had lately mastered that she might have the pleasure of subjecting Möllner's head to an examination. And now, just as she had hoped to recommend herself to him whom she loved by her one little bit of scientific acquirement, even this unselfish pleasure was denied her, and the attempt had failed entirely. Oh, Ernestine was a hard--a terrible woman!

While Elsa had been talking to Ernestine, the gentlemen had cast significant glances towards them, and said among themselves, "There is a wonderful combination,--the Hartwich and Fräulein Elsa! It must be worth studying."

And so they gradually drew near the two women. At last, Moritz, who, like a child with its doll, always had his wife hanging on his arm, could not refrain from joining in the conversation, for he pursued a jest like a boy after a butterfly. "Tell me, then, Fräulein Elsa, what did Schewe say to your head?" he asked.

"What?" and Elsa smiled diffidently. What an attraction she possessed for the other sex! Here were all the gentlemen gathered around her again. "What? oh, modesty forbids me to tell you."

"Then he was very complimental?"

"He was indeed."

"That was the reason, then, you found his diagnosis so striking," laughed Moritz.

Elsa became embarrassed.

"That is just what makes that man so successful," said Moritz. "He flatters every one, and therefore every one believes him."

"Oh, you do him great injustice!" Elsa remonstrated. "He is so in earnest about his science. He can be quite rude. He would certainly be rude to you, Professor Kern."

The gentlemen all laughed. "Fräulein Elsa is severe."

"Dove-feather'd raven! wolfish-ravening lamb!"

quoted the youthful tutor.

"Oh, I admire the man so much," said the offended lady, "he is an adept in the sense of touch,--really he not only feels, he thinks and sees, with the tips of his fingers. After he had examined my head, and was standing aside with closed eyes, as if to recapitulate mentally what he had discovered, it seemed to me that he was actually holding my soul in his closed hand, like a bird just taken from the nest."

"It is to be hoped he did not keep it."

"Oh, no! he gave it back to me; he presented me with it anew in teaching me to understand it."

"Well, if he has initiated you into the mystery of his art, Fräulein Elsa, oblige us with some of it now. There ought to be all sorts of fledgelings to take out of these nests, and we really would like to have a glimpse of our souls."

"I asked Fräulein von Hartwich just now to let me examine her head, but she would not allow it."

"But we are all ready for it," cried Moritz, bowing his head, as did several of the other gentlemen.

"Pray don't," Angelika entreated her husband.

"Dear Angelika," said Elsa, determined to be interesting to-day at all risks, "I am not at all afraid of the trial, for I am confident of success. But it must be seriously undertaken. The gentlemen must be disguised so that I cannot recognize them."

"Yes, yes, that's right! It will be delightful!" cried the gentlemen, to whose gaiety the punch perhaps had lent some assistance.

"Fräulein Elsa must leave the room while we disguise ourselves."

"I will wait for a while in the garden, where it is far more charming to see the elves sipping the dew than you, gentlemen, drinking your punch. Call me when you are ready, and I will come, and, like a bee among the flower-cups, dip into your heads and find out whether they contain honey or gall."

With this arch threat she was hurrying away, when Ernestine took her hand compassionately and whispered in her ear, "Do not do it, you will only be laughed at."

Greatly offended, Elsa withdrew her hand. "By you, perhaps, but only by you. My friends here understand me and love me!" The tears rushed to her little eyes, and she hastened out, without hearing Herbert call after her, "You will disgrace yourself."

She hurried down into the garden, to confide her griefs to the elves and fairies. She would endure smilingly, no one should know what she had dared to dream,--to hope. But could her faithful heart at once resign all hope? Patient waiting had before now been crowned with success. She went to the spot where Angelika had left the flowers that she had given her for Johannes. The glass was overturned, the water spilled and the flowers were scattered about withered. How sorry she was! It was a bad omen. She picked up her favourites and pressed them to her heart. "Thus will it perhaps be one day with me. I shall fade away," she thought, "forgotten and neglected like you, and the only proof of affection that can then be mine will be that some tender soul may lay upon my coffin a wreath of you, sweet flowers of the field!"

She seated herself upon the grass and sung softly, while her tears dropped upon the flowers,

"Fräulein Elsa, are you weeping?"

She started and sprang up, Möllner was approaching her across the lawn.

"Oh, no, these are not tears, only the dews of evening," she lisped, drying her eyes.

Möllner looked at her with pity. "Poor creature," he thought, "it is not your fault that nature has proved such a step-mother to you, and that your brother's distorted views of education have made you ridiculous, and even deprived you of the sympathy that you deserve."

He offered her his arm. "Come, my dear Fräulein Elsa!" he said kindly, "I am sent to bring you in. Thanks to Fräulein von Hartwich, you are spared the mystification that was contemplated for you."

"How so?" asked Elsa, who, upon Möllner's arm, felt like a vine nailed against the wall.

"Fräulein Ernestine was requested to exchange dresses with Frau Taun, whose hair is also black, and both were to wear masks, in order to deceive you. The younger portion of the company so insisted upon it that I could not prevent it. But Fräulein von Hartwich, convinced that you were not so secure in your art as to be impregnable to deceit, refused so obstinately to do what was asked of her that the assemblage fairly broke up in disappointment."

Elsa was silent from shame. She knew that she could not have come off victorious from such a trial. She had depended upon easily distinguishing individuals by their hair, and it had not occurred to her that Frau Taun's hair was of the same colour as Ernestine's. And yet, glad as she was to be thus relieved, she was humiliated at having afforded her enemy an opportunity for such a display of magnanimity in her behalf.

"You will make a trial of your skill some time when we are more alone, will you not?" asked Möllner in the tone one uses to comfort a child.

"Yes, if you desire it, and if you would allow me to subject your own magnificent head----"

Her voice trembled with emotion as she preferred this bold request.

"Why not?" interposed Möllner, "if you think my hard head would prove a profitable subject."

"Your hard head! oh, how can you speak so? I should tremble to touch that head, lest Minerva should spring from it to punish me for my temerity."

Johannes smiled compassionately. "I cannot persuade you not to embarrass me with your exaggerated compliments. You know I am a blunt man, and cannot repay you in kind."

"How should you repay me? I only ask you to permit me to reverence you. What can the brook require from the mighty tree whose roots drink of its waters? Let my admiration flow on at your feet, and let your vigorous nature draw thence as much as it needs. There will always be enough for you,--the brook is inexhaustible."

Johannes was most disagreeably affected by this outburst. What could he reply, without either inspiring the unfortunate creature with false hopes or deeply offending her?

Her brother's voice relieved his embarrassment. They reached the house.

"Here they come!" Herbert cried to the others, who seemed to be waiting for them and were just taking their departure. They ascended the stairs, and Elsa put on her hat and shawl.

"Where have you been so long?" Herbert asked in a tone intentionally loud.

"Heavens! we fairly flew through the garden!" cried Elsa.

"Have you wings, then, Fräulein Elsa?" asked the young tutor.

"Yes," she replied, with an enraptured glance at Johannes. "They have lately budded anew."

"Pray, then," urged her indefatigable tormentor, "soar aloft, that we may see you,--it would be a charming sight!" And he lighted a cigar at the lamp in the hall.

"All human beings are born with wings," said Elsa with pathos,--"only we forget how to use them."

"Come, Elsa dear, there is no use in our arguing with these men," Angelika said kindly. "Take leave of my mother, and we will walk along together, as we are going in the same direction."

Elsa did as she was told. In the doorway, behind the Staatsräthin, stood Ernestine, utterly dejected. Elsa went up to her and whispered, "May you rest well, if indeed shy Morpheus dare approach your armed spirit."

Herbert dragged Elsa away, whispering fiercely, "No pretty speeches to her! I will crush her! The 'little' man will prove great enough to terrify her!"

"Good-night, sweet mother. Good-night, poor Ernestine!" said Angelika, and then had hardly time to kiss them both before her impatient husband fairly picked her up and carried her down-stairs.

"Good-night, Professor Möllner," whispered Elsa. "The brook ripples onward to the ocean of oblivion."

"Good-night, good-night," resounded, in all variations of tone, from all sides, and Father Heim hummed in his strong bass voice an old student song, in which the other gentlemen gaily joined, for, with the exception of the disturbance caused by "that crazy Hartwich," the evening had been a pleasant one, and Möllner's Havanas were delicious on the way home. If only the Hartwich had not spoiled their fun with Fräulein Elsa, it would have been too good. Elsa was by far the better of the two. If she was a fool, they could at least laugh at her, which was impossible with the Hartwich, she was so deuced clever at repartee. Thus talking, laughing, and singing, the throng sought their several homes through the silent, starry night.

The Staatsräthin had entered the room with Ernestine, Johannes, having locked the street-door after his guests, came and took a chair by Ernestine's side. "Come, mother dear, sit down by us, and learn to know our guest a little before we separate for the night."

But the Staatsräthin took up her basket of keys. "I am very sorry, but I must see to the arrangement of Fräulein von Hartwich's bedroom. The servants are all very busy just now."

"Mother, let Regina attend to all that, and do you stay with us," Johannes entreated, with something of reproach in his tone. "Other things can be left until to-morrow."

"The silver at least must be attended to. And Fräulein von Hartwich is in great need of repose."

"I am so sorry to give you so much trouble," said Ernestine, really grieved.

"Oh, I assure you it is a pleasure!" With these brief words the Staatsräthin left the room.

Ernestine sat there pale and exhausted. Johannes took her hand. "Patience, patience, Ernestine. She will soon--you will soon learn to know each other."

Ernestine silently shook her head. Her brow was clouded. "There is no home for me here!"

"Not yet, but it will become one!"

"No, never!"

Johannes compressed his lips. "Ernestine, you do not dream how you pain me!"

"Pain you, my friend? The only one who is kind to me! Oh, no, I will not,--I cannot!" And she leaned towards him with strong, almost childlike, emotion, and laid her hand upon his.

"When I see you thus," said Johannes, with a look of ardent love, "I ask myself whether you can be the same Ernestine who seeks to sacrifice the unfathomed treasure of her rich, overflowing heart to a phantom,--to a struggle that can never yield a thousandth part of the pleasure that she might create for herself and others. Oh God!" and he pressed his lips to Ernestine's hand, "every word that you said to-day stabbed me like a dagger. How was it possible for you to think and talk so, after that hour that we passed together? Oh, lovely white rose that you are, you incline yourself towards me, but, when I would pluck and wear you, your thorns wound my hand!"

Ernestine laid her other hand upon his bowed head. "Dear--unspeakably dear--friend, have patience with me. If you could only put yourself in my place! In early childhood, when others are borne in the arms of love and petted and caressed, I was abused, scorned, neglected,--because--I was--a girl. Every cry of my soul, every thought of my mind, every feeling of my young heart, asked, 'Why am I so bitterly punished for not being a boy?' And in every wound that I received were planted the seeds of revenge,--revenge for myself and for my sex,--and of burning ambition to rival those placed so far above me in the scale of creation. These feelings matured quickly in the glow of the indignation which I felt when I saw my sex oppressed and repulsed whenever it strove to rise above its misery. They grew with my growth, strengthened with my physical and mental strength, and they filled my whole being, just as my veins and nerves run through my body. How can I live if you tear them thence?"

Johannes held her hand clasped in his, and listened attentively.

"It is," continued Ernestine, "as if my heart had frozen to ice just at the moment when the agonized cry, 'Why am I worth less than a boy?' burst from me, and as if that question were congealed within it,--so that I can think and struggle only for the answer to that 'why?' Why are we subject to man? Why do we depend solely upon his magnanimity, and succumb miserably when he withholds it? The times when physical force ruled are past. Everything now depends upon whether the progress of woman is to be retarded by world-old prejudices, or by positive mental inferiority on her part; and I shall never rest until science satisfies me upon this point."

"And do you not believe, Ernestine, that there is a third power subjecting the more delicate sex to the stronger--a higher power than the right of the strongest--more effective than the power of the intellect,--the power of love?"

Ernestine looked at him with calm surprise. "I do not believe love can accomplish what reason fails to prove."

"Is that really so?" Johannes was silent for a moment, then walked to and fro with folded arms, and finally stopped before her. "You speak of a sentiment that you have no knowledge of. But of all my hopes that you have destroyed to-day in the bud, one there is that you cannot take from me. You will learn to know it!"

The Staatsräthin entered. "Fräulein von Hartwich, your room is ready for you. Will you allow me to conduct you thither?"

"Mother," cried Johannes, "do not be so cold and formal to Ernestine. You cannot keep at such a distance one so near to me."

"I really cannot see wherein I have failed of my duty towards Fräulein von Hartwich,--we are as yet entire strangers to each other."

"You are right, Frau Staatsräthin," said Ernestine. "I am not so presuming as to expect more from you than you would accord to the merest stranger. I am very sorry to be obliged to accept even so much from you. I will go to my room, that I may not any longer keep you from your rest; but be assured I shall trespass upon your hospitality for a single night only."

She turned to Johannes, and, with a grateful look, offered him her hand.

"Good-night, kind sir."

"God guard your first slumbers beneath this roof!" said Johannes fervently, and it seemed as if the wish took the airy shape of her lost guardian angel, and hovered before her up the stairs to the cosy little room whither the Staatsräthin conducted her, and then, placing itself by the side of her snowy couch, fanned her burning brow with cooling wings.

"Mother," said Johannes gravely, when the Staatsräthin rejoined him, "to-day, for the first time in my life, you have been no mother to me!"

CHAPTER XI.

INHARMONIOUS CONTRASTS.

The morning sun streamed brightly through the white muslin curtains of Ernestine's windows, yet she still slept in peaceful and childlike slumber. For the first time for many years, she was not cheated of her repose by haste to go to her work. The guardian angel, that Johannes had invoked to her side, forbade even her uncle's ghost to knock at her door, and still kept faithful watch beside her bed. It seemed as if the whole house were aware of its sacred presence, for a quiet as of a church reigned among its inmates. They were all up, but, at the command of their head, every door was softly opened and shut, every footfall noiseless. Johannes knew how much need Ernestine had of repose, and he would not have her disturbed. He even controlled the throbbing of his own heart, that longed to bid her good-morning.

The sleeper drew calmly in with every breath the repose that surrounded her,--and what a blessing it was for the poor, wearied child!

The Staatsräthin had superintended the arrangement of the breakfast-table, and was seated with her work at the window. But her hands were dropped idly in her lap, and her eyes, red with weeping, were fixed sadly upon the flame of the spirit-lamp that had been burning for an hour beneath the coffee-urn.

"Do you not think I had better have fresh coffee prepared? this has been waiting so long," she said to her son as he entered the room.

"Just as you please, mother dear," said Johannes. "You know I understand nothing of such things."

The Staatsräthin rang for the servant. "Regina, take this coffee away and bring back the urn. I will boil some more."

The maid did as she was directed, with a sullen face. "'Tis a shame to waste such good coffee!" she muttered as she went out.

"It is very disagreeable, mother," observed Johannes, "to have Regina criticising all our arrangements. I do not like to have servants of that sort about me. If you cannot break her of it, pray send her away."

"She does her work well, and is thoroughly honest," replied the Staatsräthin.

"That may be, but there certainly are servants to be had who would do their duty more respectfully and good-humouredly. I do not like to have my comfort destroyed by sullen faces around me. I like to have people who render their service cheerfully."

"It is not very easy to find them."

"They must be sought until they are found," said Johannes, cutting short the conversation by opening and beginning to read his newspaper.

The Staatsräthin sighed, but said not a word.

Regina re-entered with the urn, and asked crossly, "Is the Fräulein not to be wakened yet?"

"No!" was Johannes's curt reply.

"Then the urn might as well be washed, if the coffee is not to be made until noon," she grumbled again, and left the room, closing the door with something of a slam.

"Now, mother, this really is too much. I cannot undertake the direction of the servant-maids, but I will not tolerate them when they are so insolent. Regina must conduct herself differently, or she goes!"

"You have suddenly grown very impatient with the girl," said his mother bitterly. "I hope you may always be as implicitly obeyed as you desire."

"I understand what you mean, mother, but it does not touch me. I desire only what is right,--obedience from the servants whom I hire, love from a wife who is my equal."

"Love alone will not answer."

"Yes, true, faithful love will."

"There must be submission and self-sacrifice."

"True love embraces all these,--submission, self-sacrifice, the entire self."

"It is not every one who can love truly; so be upon your guard that you are not intentionally or unintentionally deceived."

"Reassure yourself, mother, and spare me your misgivings," said Johannes with unusual sternness, again turning to his newspaper, while he listened to every rustle outside the door of the room.

The Staatsräthin brought from a cupboard a delicate little coffee-mill and began to grind some fresh coffee. The clock struck half-past eight.

"It is easy to see that the young lady has not been used to a regular household," the Staatsräthin could not forbear observing.

"I only see that she is worn out after the fatigue of yesterday."

"No one who is accustomed to early rising ever sleeps so late in the morning."

"It is impossible to rise early when one works all night long."

"It is a bad custom for the head of a household!"

"Mother," said Johannes, starting up, "I should be downright unhappy if I did not know how kind-hearted you really are."

"Indeed?" The Staatsräthin shook up the coffee, but her hands trembled visibly. "This girl changes everything. Since she came into the house, all things are wrong: to-day, I make you unhappy,--yesterday, I was no mother to you! And yet, my son, since the painful day when I gave you birth, I have never been more a mother to you than now in my anxiety for your true happiness!" She could say no more; her emotion choked her utterance.

"Mother dearest," cried Johannes, embracing her tenderly, "you must not shed a tear because of a hasty word of mine. Come forgive me,--I am really so happy to-day. My dear, good mother, scold your boy well, I beg."

The Staatsräthin smiled again, and stroked her darling's shining curls.

"God bless you, my dear son. It is because I love you so that I cannot give you to any but the noblest and best of women. I tremble lest you, who are without an equal in my eyes, should throw yourself away upon a wife who is unworthy of you."

"Trust me, mother, I understand and thank you, but, if you want me to be happy, love me a little less and Ernestine more! This is all I ask of you,--will you not do it?"

"The first I cannot do, but I will try to do the last, because you desire it, my son!"

"That's my own dear mother!" cried Johannes, kissing her still beautiful hands. "And now you may go and waken our guest, for I must see her before I go to the University."

"Here she is!" said the Staatsräthin, going forward to greet Ernestine. "Good-morning, my dear. How did you sleep?" And she kissed her brow.

Ernestine looked at her, surprised and grateful. "Oh, I slept as if rocked by angels,--I have not felt so rested and refreshed for a long time!" Then, holding out a bunch of lovely white roses to Johannes, she asked, "Did you have these beautiful roses laid outside my door?"

Johannes blushed slightly, and gazed enraptured at the beautiful creature. "Yes, I put them there myself."

"I thank you!" said Ernestine. "You are kinder to me than any one ever was before. I have many flowers in my garden, but none, I think, so lovely as these. They are the first flowers I ever had given to me. I know now how pleasant it is."

"Did your uncle never give you a bouquet upon your birthday?" asked the Staatsräthin.

"Oh, no! And I do not think it would have delighted me so from him!" said Ernestine, with artless ease.

Johannes's face beamed at these words. "When is your birthday, Ernestine?" he asked, while the Staatsräthin led her to the breakfast-table.

Ernestine set down the cup that she was just about putting to her lips, and looked at him in amazement "I do not know!"

"You do not know!" cried Johannes.

"I will ask my uncle,--he told me once, but I have forgotten."

The Staatsräthin clasped her hands. "Forgotten your own birthday? Is it possible? Was it never celebrated?"

"Celebrated?" repeated Ernestine in surprise. "No, why should it have been celebrated?"

"What! do you know nothing of this affectionate custom?"

Ernestine shook her head almost mournfully. "I know of no loving customs."

The Staatsräthin looked at her with compassion. "Then you hardly know how old you are?"

"Not exactly; but my father died when I was twelve years old,--shortly before his death he reproached me for being so little and weak for twelve years old,--and since then ten summers have passed away."

"Poor child!" said the Staatsräthin. "I begin to understand!"

"I thought you would, mother," said Johannes from the other side of the table.

"Your uncle has deprived you of many of the pleasures of life," continued the Staatsräthin.

"Such pleasures, perhaps. But I must not be ungrateful,--he has given me others no less fair and great!"

"And what were they?"

"He has taught me to think and to study. There can be no greater or purer pleasures than these."

Again the Staatsräthin's brow was overcast.

Johannes saw it, and broke off the conversation. "Ernestine, it is not good for you to drink your coffee black. It excites your nerves."

"On the contrary, my uncle bids me always take it so, to stimulate me,--without it, I often could not begin my day's work."

"That accords entirely with your uncle's system of education. First he utterly prostrates you by wakefulness and study at night, and then stimulates you by artificial means. Why, you yourself can understand that such a life of alternate prostration and over-excitement must wear you out. I really do not know what to think of your uncle in this respect."

Ernestine looked down, evidently impressed by the truth of Johannes's words.

"But tell me, Johannes," said the Staatsräthin, "why do you address Fräulein Ernestine by her first name, when she does not authorize you to do so by returning the familiarity?"

"She asks me to do so."

"Oh, yes, I begged your son to call me Ernestine,--it makes me feel like a child again, and as if I could begin my life anew!"

"But you should address him by his first name, and not have the intimacy all upon one side."

Ernestine blushed. "I cannot do so now,--by-and-by, perhaps."

"Leave it to time and Ernestine's own feelings, mother dear. I shall not ask for it until it comes naturally. Some time when she wishes to give me a special pleasure she will do it. And now good-by, Ernestine. I must go. I lecture at nine, but as soon as I get through I will return."

Ernestine looked up at him with glistening eyes, and breathed, scarcely audibly, "Farewell, my friend."

Johannes pressed her hand, and then, turning to his mother, said, "Dear mother, I leave Ernestine to you for an hour, and hope with all my heart that you will understand each other. But, at all events, remember what you promised me."

"Most certainly I will, my son." He went as far as the door, then lingered, and, calling his mother to him, whispered imploringly, "Be kind to her,--all that you do for her you do for me."

And, with one more look of longing love at Ernestine, he was gone. It was very hard to go. It seemed to him that he must stay,--that Ernestine would escape him if he did not guard her well. He would have turned back again if his duty had not been so imperative. "If I only find her here when I return!" he said to himself one moment, and the next he blamed himself for his childish weakness. He loved her too well. The one hour of lecture seemed to him an eternity. He longed to see her again almost before he had crossed the threshold that separated him from her.

How beautiful she was to-day after her refreshing sleep,--how maidenly! If, when he returned, she looked at him with those glistening eyes, he could not control himself,--he would throw himself at her feet and implore her to be his. The decisive word must be spoken,--he must have certainty. The state of doubt into which he was plunged by the strange contrast between Ernestine's cold, stubbornly expressed opinions and her tender personal behaviour towards himself was not to be borne any longer. Only one hour separated him from the goal for which he longed with every pulse of his strong, manly nature. Oh, were it only over!

"Do you like beans?" the Staatsräthin asked Ernestine.

"Why do you ask me?"

"Only because you are to have them at dinner to-day."

"Thank you, but I cannot dine with you."

"Why not?"

"My uncle might return unexpectedly from his journey, and be angry if he did not find me at home."

"Strange! How comes it that you, who contend so earnestly for freedom, are under such strict control? Is it not somewhat of a contradiction?"

Ernestine started.

The Staatsräthin continued: "You are battling for the independence of woman, you brand as slavery a wife's obedience to her protector, and yet a man who, as I understand the case, is far more dependent upon you than you are upon him, has such complete dominion over you that you do not dare to stay from home a day without his permission."

Ernestine was again startled and surprised. "You are right. But I have grown up under his control. It has become a habit with me, so that I am hardly conscious of it, and it has never yet been so opposed to my wishes as to induce me to shake it off."

"Now, let me ask you, my dear, whether you regard this dull, half-unconscious habit of submission as nobler and loftier than the loving, voluntary obedience that a wife yields to a husband?"

Ernestine was silent for a moment, and then said with her own generous frankness, "No, it is not. But I have brought it upon myself, and cannot escape from it as long as my uncle possesses the legal right of my guardian."

"But this legal right does not in any way affect your personal freedom as long as you do not desire to do anything contrary to law."

"He always told me that the guardian was the master of the ward. And if this tyrannical regulation had not applied equally to the male and female sex, I should long ago have attacked it in my publications."

"That would not have done much good, I fear," said the Staatsräthin dryly.

Ernestine shrugged her shoulders. "None of my writings effect much good. But they are not meant to be anything more than a few of the many drops of water that must one day wear away the stone that dams the course of the pure waters of reason."

"We will not discuss such abstract subjects," said the Staatsräthin evasively. "I would rather persuade you to stay with us to-day."

"If I only thought that I should not be a burden to you!"

"You certainly will not be to me, and you will give my son a pleasure far greater than the annoyance to which your absence may subject your guardian. But you are the best judge of what you ought to do."

Ernestine laid her hand upon the Staatsräthin's. "I will stay!"

"There,--that's right! Johannes would never have forgiven me if I had failed to persuade you to stay." She rang the bell. Regina appeared, and carried away the coffee-tray.

"You may bring me the beans, I will prepare them," said the Staatsräthin. Regina brought in the beans in a dish, with a bowl for the stalks.

"I'm sure you will excuse me," said the Staatsräthin to Ernestine, and she seated herself by the window, knife in hand, ready to begin her task.

Ernestine looked on in astonishment. "Do you do that yourself?"

"Why not? The cook has a great deal to do to-day, and I am glad to assist her."

"I would help you if I knew how," said Ernestine.

"Try it,--perhaps it will amuse you. It does not require much skill." The old lady, quite delighted at Ernestine's interest in domestic affairs, handed her another knife and a bean, saying, "Look! you first strip off the stem and those tough fibres,--so. The people in this part of the country are apt to pay no attention to the fibres, but if you do not strip them off they are very tough. And now cut the bean lengthwise. Stop!--not so thick,--a little finer. Now, don't put the stems back in the dish, but here in this bowl! See! everything in the world can be learned, and, if you should not be compelled to do it, it is at least well to know how."

A gentle sigh escaped her as she remembered that her own circumstances had once, before she had lost her property by her brother's failure, been such as to make these homely offices entirely unnecessary.

Ernestine contemplated with smiling surprise the Staatsräthin's enthusiasm in encouraging her to undertake this new rôle. She asked herself seriously if it were possible that this was really an intellectual woman. But one glance at the broad, thoughtful brow and the clear, expressive eyes of the speaker convinced her of the truth.

Lost in these reflections, Ernestine continued her novel taskwork, but the Staatsräthin suddenly discovered, to her horror, that she was throwing the stems in with the beans, and the beans into the bowl of stems and strings.

"My dear," she cried, "see what you are doing! now I shall have to pick over the whole dishful!"

Ernestine threw down the knife and leaned back in her chair. "I never was made for such work! Forgive me, but I cannot think it worth while to learn it. I shall never be so situated as to need such knowledge."

"As you please," said the Staatsräthin coldly.

"Are you displeased with me? Is it possible that you are displeased with me because I cannot cut beans?" She seized the old lady's busy hand. "Frau Staatsräthin, make some allowance for me. You must not ask one to do what she is not fit for. Would you ask the fish to fly, or the bird to swim? Of course not. Do not, then, expect a person who is at home only in a different world to take an interest in the every-day concerns of this."