Wolff's union with his heart's beloved, the
coffin of old Countess Rotterbach, adorned with a handsome coronet upon
the costly pall, was borne out of the house at the quiet evening hour,
she thought there was no cause to mourn.

On the other hand, she grieved when, for a long time, she did not see old
Casper Eysvogel, whose tall figure she had formerly watched with pleasure
when, at a late hour, he returned from some banquet, his bearing erect,
and his step as firm as if wine could not get the better of him. But
suddenly one warm September noon, when her pale, waxing crescent was
plainly visible in the blue sky by daylight, she beheld him again. He was
less erect than before, but he seemed content with his fate; for, as a
cooler breeze waved the light cobwebs in the little garden, into which he
had been led, his daughter-in-law Els with loving care wrapped his feet
in the rug which she had embroidered for him with the Eysvogel coat of
arms, and he gratefully kissed her brow.

It was fully ten years later that Luna saw him also borne to the grave.
Frau Rosalinde, his son, and his beautiful wife followed his coffin with
sincere sorrow. The three gifted children whom Els had given to her Wolff
remained standing in front of the house with Frau Rickel, their nurse.
The carrier's widow, who had long since regained her health in the
Beguine House at Schweinau, had been taken into Frau Eysvogel's service.
Her little adopted daughter Walpurga, scarcely seventeen years old, had
just been married to the Ortlieb teamster Ortel. The moon heard the nurse
tell what a pleasant, quiet man Herr Casper had been, and how, away from
his own business affairs and those of the Council, his sole effort had
seemed to be to interfere with no one.

The moon had forgotten to look at Frau Rosalinde. Besides, after her
mother's death she was rarely seen even by the members of her own
household, but when Els desired to seek her she was sure of finding her
with the children. The parents willingly afforded her the pleasure she
derived from the companionship of the little ones, but they were often
obliged to oppose her wish to dress her grandchildren magnificently.

Frau Rosalinde rarely saw the twin sons of her daughter Isabella, who
took the veil after her husband's death to pray for his sorely imperilled
soul.

The Knight Heideck, the uncle and faithful teacher of the boys, was
unwilling to let them go to the city. He ruled them strictly until the