ting events of the last few days had so entirely exhausted me
that I could not keep my eyes open in the day-time, if I sat down; and
I was so tired. I still refused to believe that I was growing old. But
I was strongly reminded of it, for I feared to die. Formerly, since I
stood alone, I thought death an easy matter; now I wanted to live long
enough to be laid in the soil of a united Fatherland.

I was much refreshed by the arrival of Julius's wife. When I awoke from
my afternoon nap and saw her standing before me, it seemed as if it
were my wife in her youth. She had a most charming presence, and the
resignation with which she bore her separation from husband and brother
gave great impressiveness to her manner. Every movement of hers had a
quiet grace. She lived in entire harmony with my daughter-in-law Conny;
and these two children, who had now become mine, petted and caressed me
with such kindness and consideration, and listened so attentively to
all I said, that I could speak to them of things which I usually kept
to myself. Martha was an adept in making remarkably beautiful bouquets
out of grasses and wild flowers, and when I entered the room in the
morning, I always found a fresh nosegay on the table. She was such a
pleasant table companion that the dishes tasted twice as good, and I
soon regained my strength.

Marie often came to visit me. Martha felt very kindly towards the girl;
besides, there was a bond of union between them, for each had her
greatest treasure in the field.

Marie had hitherto confided in no one in the village; for it would be
contrary to the peasant's standard of honor to tell any one how she
loved, and what her father made her suffer. Her grandfather
strengthened her in her love, and when I said that the old fellow did
it merely to hurt his son's feelings, Martha declared I was wronging
him.

Martha, like my wife, embellished what she looked upon. The light of
her eyes made all things radiant with light, and as a happy young wife
she was particularly inclined to favor and give consolation in an
unhappy love affair. Forgetting all her own troubles, she gave me a
lively account of the patience and energy with which Marie worked,
while her father would go about the house, scolding and cursing,
because he now was forced to do things which his servants had formerly
attended to. Yesterday, while she was engaged in stacking some green
clover, the father called out in the direction of the shed b