r had killed the little wearer of the laurel wreath, until she could
say to herself that events had proved it. With the same firmness she now
held to the belief that she had found the right idea concerning little
Juli's soul.

With the passionate desire to atone to the patrician's daughter for the
wrong which she had inflicted upon her, she clasped the vagabond's child
to her heart with the love of the most faithful mother, and her
affectionate care seemed to benefit herself as well as the ailing little
one. Juli was as devoted to her Kuni as a faithful dog. The kindness
which the lame ropedancer showed to the fragile child was lavishly
returned to her by a thousand proofs of the warmest attachment.

So Kuni had found one heart which kept its whole treasure of love for her
alone, one creature who could not do without her, one fragile human plant
to which she could be useful and helpful day and night.

Under the care of a faithful nurse little Juli gradually grew stronger,
both physically and mentally. The little girl's wan cheeks began to be
rosy, the convulsions and fever attacked her less frequently. Besides the
faint "Baba," she learned to babble "Duni," (instead of Kuni) and
afterward "Mother," and many other words. At last she talked nearly as
well as other children of her age. All this afforded the lame girl a
wealth of sweet joys wholly new to her, which afforded her heart such
warmth and solace that, in spite of the cough which tormented her during
many an hour of the day and night, she felt happier during her homeward
journey with the fierce blasphemer Cyriax, from whom she expected the
worst things, than in the brilliant days of her fame as an artist.
Doubtless, as they approached Germany, she often wondered what Lienhard
would think of her, if he should meet her amid such surroundings, as the
companion of so worthless a couple; but the terror that overpowered her
was transformed into pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would
approve, nay, praise her conduct, when she could show him the child, and
tell him what she had done for it.

This state of affairs had continued until two months before. Then, at
Schaffhausen, her darling had suddenly been attacked with violent
convulsions, and the feeble intellect, which her love had so toilsomely
and faithfully waked from its slumber, only too soon attained eternal
peace. In all Kuni's sorrowful life she had scarcely experienced any
grief so bitter. When she