ak falsely to
each other, but to understand how matters are between us," she answered
gravely. "How you are constituted is best known to yourself, but it
seems to me that while far away you have formed a totally false opinion
of me, whom you placed upon the throne of your heart, and I wish to
correct it, that you may not plunge into misfortune like a deluded
simpleton and drag me with you. Where, as in my case, so many things are
different from what the good and humble would desire them to be, it is
not very pleasant to open one's whole heart to another, and there is
no one else in the world for whom I would do it. Perhaps I shall not
succeed at all, for often enough I am incomprehensible to myself. I
shall understand myself most speedily if I bring before my mind my
father's and my mother's nature, and recall the ancient saying that
young birds sing like the old ones. My father--I love him in spite of
all his eccentricities and weaknesses. Dear me! he needs me so much, and
would be miserable without me. Though he is a head taller than you, he
has remained a child."

"But a good, kind-hearted one!" Wolf interrupted with warm affection.

"Of course," Barbara eagerly responded; "and if I have inherited from
him anything which is ill-suited to me, it is the fearless courage
which does not beseem us women. We progress much farther if we hold back
timidly. Therefore, often as it impels me to resistance, I yield unless
it is too strong for me. Besides, but for your interruption, I should
have said nothing about my father. What concerns us I inherited from my
mother, and, as I mean kindly toward you, this very heritage compels me
to warn you against marrying me if you are unable to support me so that
I can make a good appearance among Ratisbon wives. Moreover, poor church
mouse though I am, I sometimes give them one thing and another to
guess, and I haven't far to travel to learn what envy is. In my present
position, however, compassion is far more difficult to bear than
ill-will. But I by no means keep out of the way on that account. I must
be seen and heard if I am to be happy, and I shall probably succeed so
long as my voice retains the melting tone which is now peculiar to it.
Should anything destroy that, there will be a change. Then--I know this
in advance--I shall tread in the footsteps of my mother, who had no
means of satisfying her longing for admiration except her pretty face,
her beautiful figure, and the finery w