words and continued,
weeping: "Where do you get your strength? At your age this miserable
scrap of meat is a mere drop of water on a red-hot stone."

"Herr Van Aken gives me what he can, in addition to my ration. I shall
get through; but I witnessed a terrible sight to-day at the tailor's,
who mends my clothes."

"Well?"

"Two of his children have starved to death."

"And the weaver's family opposite," added Barbara, weeping. "Such nice
people! The young wife was confined four days ago, and this morning
mother and child expired of weakness, expired, I tell you, like a
lamp that has consumed its oil and must go out. At the cloth-maker
Peterssohn's, the father and all five children have died of the plague.
If that isn't pitiful!"

"Stop, stop!" said Georg, shuddering. "I must go to the court-yard to
drill."

"What's the use of that! The Spaniards don't attack; they leave the
work to the skeleton death. Your fencing gives an appetite, and the poor
hollow herrings can scarcely stir their own limbs."

"Wrong, Frau Barbara, wrong," replied the young man. "The exercise and
motion sustains them. Herr von Nordwyk knew what he was doing, when he
asked me to drill them in the dead fencing-master's place."

"You're thinking of the ploughshare that doesn't rust. Perhaps you are
right; but before you go to work, take a sip of this. Our wine is still
the best. When people have something to do, at least they don't mutiny,
like those poor fellows among the volunteers day before yesterday. Thank
God, they are gone!"

While the widow was filling a glass, Wilhelm's mother came into the
kitchen and greeted Barbara and the young nobleman. She carried under
her shawl a small package clasped tightly to her bosom. Her breadth was
still considerable, but the flesh, with which she had moved about
so briskly a few months ago, now seemed to have become an oppressive
burden.

She took the little bundle in her right hand, saying "I have something
for your Bessie. My Wilhelm, good fellow--"

Here she paused and restored her gift to its old place. She had seen
the Junker's plucked present, and continued in an altered tone: "So you
already have a pigeon--so much the better! The city clerk's little girl
is beginning to droop too. I'll see you to-morrow, if God wills."

She was about to go, but Georg stopped her, saying: "You are mistaken,
my good lady. I shot that bird to-day, I'll confess now, Frau Barbara;
my corvus is a wretched crow.