ce dropped off to sleep in the midst of a loving
chat with its "beautiful mamma." Julie sat and listened to the storm,
starting to her feet every time she heard a man's step approach the
house. But the hours slipped by, and she remained alone. At last, about
midnight, she gave up all hope. She dismissed her old servant,
noiselessly undressed herself, and lay down on the bed by the side of
the sleeping child. It was long before she closed her eyes.

When she awoke next morning her little bedfellow soon roused herself,
and was very much surprised not to find herself in her accustomed
place. The preceding day, with its adventures, only floated before her
like a confused dream. She had a strange dislike to asking Julie how it
had all come about, but allowed Julie to dress her, amid much petting
and caressing, and to carry her home. Julie herself was depressed, and
felt her confidence in the helping powers of fate much shaken. She
resigned little Frances to the foster-mother, and then immediately
started for the studio.

The weather had cleared, and a warm though pale winter sun shone down
upon the streets, covered with a thin layer of snow. The long walk did
Julie good. When she finally reached the house, her cheeks were
glowing, her blood was quickened, and her spirits had recovered their
former confidence. She was, therefore, all the more alarmed to find
four well-known figures in the courtyard, all of whom greeted her with
a look of profound distress--Angelica, Rosenbusch, Kohle, and Fridolin,
the janitor. They were standing in a group, and appeared to be eagerly
discussing something, when Julie's sudden arrival frightened them
apart.

"What has happened?" she cried to them. "Has he returned? For God's
sake, what has happened?"

"Dear Fraeulein," said Rosenbusch, who was the first to stammer out an
answer, "we know as little as you what has happened; but he has
returned, and last night too, and not very late either; he gave back
his horse to the stable-keeper himself; or, at all events, when I
inquired about it early this morning, the two animals stood in the
stalls, but the hostlers knew nothing of their riders. 'Well,' thought
I to myself, 'that affair passed off better than we had a right to
expect,' and hurried over here. But when I asked Fridolin, he knew
nothing except that the 'professor' must have returned, for he had not
been able to open the door of the studio; the key was inside, and he
had received no an