t he might
come.

In the terrible tumult of her heart she had forgotten to eat or to drink
since early morning, and at last, in the afternoon, some one knocked at
the door, and the landlady called her.

While she was hurriedly smoothing her thick black hair and straightening
her best gown, which she had put on for him in the morning, she heard
the hostess say that Herr Groland of the Council was waiting for her
downstairs. Every drop of blood left her glowing cheeks, and the knees
which never trembled on the rope shook as she descended the narrow
steps.

He came forward to meet her in the entry, holding out his hand with
open-hearted frankness. How handsome and how good he was! No one wore
that look who desired aught which must be hidden under the veil of
darkness. Ere her excited blood had time to cool, he had beckoned to her
to follow him into the street, where a sedan chair was standing.

An elderly lady of dignified bearing looked out and met her eyes with a
pleasant glance. It was Frau Sophia, the widow of Herr Conrad Schurstab
of the Council, one of the richest and most aristocratic noblewomen in
the city. Lienhard had told her about the charming prisoner who had been
released and begged her to help him bring her back to a respectable and
orderly life. The lady needed an assistant who, now that it was hard
for her to stoop, would inspect the linen closets, manage the poultry
yard-her pride--and keep an eye on the children when they came to visit
their grandmother. So she instantly accompanied Lienhard to the tavern,
and Kuni pleased her. But it would have been difficult not to feel
some degree of sympathy for the charming young creature who, in great
embarrassment, yet joyously as though released from a heavy burden,
raised her large blue eyes to the kind stranger.

It was cold in the street, and as Kuni had come out without any wrap,
Frau Schurstab, in her friendly consideration, shortened the conference.
Lienhard Uroland had helped her with a few words, and when the sedan
chair and the young Councillor moved down the street all the necessary
details were settled. The vagrant had bound herself and assumed duties,
though they were very light ones. She was to move that evening into the
distinguished widow's house, not as a servant, but as the old lady's
assistant.

Loni, the manager of the company of rope-dancers, had watched the
negotiations from the taproom. During their progress each of the three
windows