g are known. But
people talk so cruelly, and will distort the facts so gladly, and we
have always held our heads so high. And now the Penheim!" She sobbed
afresh.

"I shall ask the princess not to write to anyone about your being here."

"_Ach_, I know her--she will do it all the same."

"No, I don't think so. She does everything I ask. You see, she takes
care of my house for me. She is not here in the same way that--that you
and Baroness Elmreich are, and her interest is to stay here."

Frau von Treumann's bowed head went up with a jerk. "_Ach?_ She has
found a place at last? She is your paid companion? Your housekeeper?"

"Yes, and she is goodness itself, and I don't believe she would be
unkind and make mischief for worlds."

"_Ach so!_" said Frau von Treumann, "_ach so-o-o-o!_"--a long drawn out
_so_ of complete comprehension. Her tears ceased as if by magic. She
dried her eyes. Yes, of course the Penheim would hold her tongue if Miss
Estcourt ordered her to do so. She had heard all about her efforts to
find places, and she would probably be very careful not to lose this
one. The poor Penheim. So she was actually working for wages. What a
come-down for a Dettingen! And the Dettingens had always treated the
Treumanns as though they belonged merely to the _kleine Adel_. Well,
well, each one in turn. She was the dear friend, and the Penheim was the
housekeeper. Well, well.

She sat up straight, smoothed her hair, and resumed her first manner of
quiet dignity. "I am sorry that you should have witnessed my agitation,"
she said, with a faint smile. "I am not easily betrayed into exhibitions
of feeling, but there are limits to one's endurance, there are certain
things the bravest cannot bear."

"Yes," said Anna.

"And for a Treumann, social disgrace, any action that in the least soils
our honour and makes us unable to hold up our heads, is worse than
death."

"But I don't see any disgrace."

"No, no, there is none so long as facts are not distorted. It is quite
simple--you need friends and I am willing to be your friend. That was
how my son looked at it. He said '_Liebe Mama_, she evidently needs
friends and sympathy--why should you hesitate to make yourself of use?
You must regard it as a good work.' You would like my son; his brother
officers adore him."

"Really?" said Anna.

"He is so sensible, so reasonable; he is beloved and respected by the
whole regiment. I will show you his photograph--_ach_, the t