e," she said, with deep reverence, "how are you since
you have been in Stuttgardt? my husband sends you his compliments. But
we don't come to the Duke, no, it is to the knight there," she added,
as if recollecting herself, pointing to Albert; "we have brought a
wedding present for his wife. There she sits, Barbelle, as large as
life."

Mrs. Rosel, confounded at the unceremonious conduct of her
sister-in-law before such an august audience, checked her loquacity by
saying, "I most humbly beg pardon of your grace, for having brought
these people here,--they are the wife and daughter of the fifer of
Hardt; pray do not take it ill, your highness, the woman means well, I
assure you."

The Duke was more amused with the excuses of Mrs. Rosel than with the
blunt language of her sister. "How is your husband?" said he to the
countrywoman, "will he visit us soon? why did he not come with you?"

"He has his reasons, sir," she replied; "if war breaks out, he'll
certainly not stay at home, for then he may be of some use; but in
peaceable times, why he thinks it is not becoming to eat cherries with
great folks."

The naivete of the plump matron almost drove Mrs. Rosel to desperation:
she pulled her by the petticoat, and by the long tails of hair, but to
no purpose. The wife of the fifer went on talking, to the great
amusement of the Duke and his guests, whose irresistible laughter,
which her answers elicited, appeared only to increase her happiness and
good humour. Barbelle in the meantime, playing with the handle of a
little basket she held in her hand, scarcely ventured occasionally to
raise her eyes to look at that face which she had beheld with such
tender sympathy when she nursed Albert during the long period of his
fever. The impression which those days had left on her mind still
remained in all its vigour, and the sight of him who had unawares made
an inroad into the recesses of her heart, made her fearful of meeting
his eye. She heard him say to his wife, "That is the kind girl who
nursed me when I lay ill in her father's house, and who conducted me
part of the way to Lichtenstein."

Bertha turned to her, and took her hand with great kindness. The girl
trembled, and her cheeks assumed a deep blush. She opened her little
basket, and presented a piece of beautiful linen, with a few bundles of
flax, as fine and soft as silk. She attempted in vain to speak, but
kissing the hand of the young bride, a tear fell upon her nuptial