the name of my dead bride, Maria Darvai,
to designate the mysterious benefactor; and, indeed, she does send it,
even if it be from Heaven. I impose but one condition: she must remain
virtuous. If I should ascertain the contrary, my patronage will
instantly cease. Be so good, then, as to now accept from me the first
monthly instalment, and employ it conformably to my wishes; and, once
more, I beg of you to say nothing about me. I ask it simply for the
girl's sake. You know what an evil tongue the world has."

Dame Kramm took the money. Why, indeed, should she not have taken it?
Any one else, in her place, would have done the same thing. The secret
benefactor had given her no cause for suspicion. He remained unknown to
her, and insisted on remaining unknown; but he had forewarned her of the
machinations of others, and acted himself as the guardian of defenceless
virtue. What more could he do?

Madam Kramm took the money, I say, and secretly hired music and singing
masters for Fanny, to whom alone she told anything about the matter. Of
course, it was a mistake on her part not to have admitted Teresa into
her confidence; but, perhaps, she surmised--and no doubt her surmise was
correct--that that austere old lady would have incontinently pitched the
money out of the window, with the remark that a virtuous girl ought,
under no pretext whatever, to accept money which she has not honestly
earned. And then, too, that other point--an artistic career? That would
certainly have encountered vigorous opposition on the part of Teresa.
Why, it was a subject which could not even be broached in her presence.

But the affair was no secret to Teresa, after all. From the very first
she noticed the change that had taken place in Fanny's disposition. In
the girl's mind the idea that she possessed a treasure which would raise
her far above her competitors on the path of glory had already taken
root. She had no longer any heart for the simple tasks, the humble
pastimes, in which she had rejoiced heretofore. She no longer conversed
as openly as before with the young journeyman. She would sit and brood
for hours together, and after such broodings she would frequently say to
her aunt that one day she would richly requite her for her labour and
trouble.

How Teresa used to tremble at these words!

The girl was dreaming of riches. The Evil One had shown her the whole
world and said, "All this I will give thee: worship me." And it never
occurre