them as mere instruments. His physical strength was
unabated. After having stood all morning superintending his
workmen--after having wandered all through the wood with the forester,
ridden, spite of Anton's remonstrances, far into the disturbed districts
to seek information or establish relations there, and inspected on his
return all the sentry-posts on the estate, there he was at the tea-table
of the baroness, a lively companion, with such inexhaustible funds of
conversation that Anton had often to remind him by signs that the
strength of the lady of the house was not equal to his own. As for the
baron, Fink had completely subjugated him. He never showed the least
deference to the sarcastic humor which had become habitual to the
unfortunate nobleman, never allowed him a bitter observation against
Wohlfart or Lenore, or any one else, without making him at once sensible
of its injustice. Consequently, the baron learned to exercise great
self-control in his presence. On the other hand, Fink took pains to give
him many a pleasure. He helped him to play a rubber of whist, initiated
Lenore in the game, and gradually drew in Wohlfart as the fourth.

This had the effect of pleasantly whiling away many a weary hour for the
baron; of making Wohlfart one of the family circle, and keeping him up,
so that Fink might, if so minded, drink a glass of Cognac punch and
enjoy his last cigar in his company. The ladies of the house alone did
not seem to feel the cheering influence of Fink's presence. The
baroness fell sick; it was no violent ailment, yet it came suddenly.
That very afternoon she had spoken cheerfully to Anton, and taken from
him some letters which the postman had brought for her husband, but in
the evening she did not make her appearance at the tea-table, though the
baron himself treated her indisposition as trifling. She complained of
nothing but weakness, and the doctor, who ventured from Rosmin to the
castle, could not give her malady a name. She smilingly rejected all
medicine, and said it was her firm conviction that the exhaustion would
pass away. That she might not detain her husband and daughter in her
sick-room, she often expressed a wish to join the family circle, but she
was not able to sit up on the sofa, and lay resting her head on the
pillows. Thus she was still the silent companion of the others. Her eyes
would dwell uneasily upon the baron, or searchingly upon Lenore, as they
sat at the whist-table, and th