e old woman broke off a white spray of elder, and placed it,
correctly and not without coquetry, in the fichu.

"'But, my dear,' I said aloud, 'there is no company here this evening.
We eat to-day _en famille_, buckwheat groats with milk.'

"But I got no answer; the busy lady's maid bent quickly to pull one or
two bows straight, and I glanced from Susanna--the color in whose cheeks
had mounted to a bright red--to the trunk, which looked suspiciously
empty after the taking out of the new dress. The old woman observed me,
and quickly shut the cover. 'The clock is striking seven,' she said; and
in fact, the weak, thin tone of the Buetze church-bell was heard just
seven times, and at once began the noisy sound of the servants'
supper-bell.

"'Come,' said I to her, 'the servants' room is down-stairs.'

"'Thank you,' she replied, with a look of refusal. 'I am not at all
hungry; but I would like to ask for some wood, for the child cannot
sleep in this damp atmosphere.'

"I directed her to Brockelmann, and conducted Susanna Mattoni to the
dining-room.

"Oh, I could paint the scene now! The four candles on the table vied
with the rosy twilight, and in the vaulted window-niche stood Klaus and
Anna Maria. He had put his arm around her, and had been saying some
kind, serious word--they never stood so near each other again! I seem to
see, at this moment, how they turned around toward me--how Klaus, full
of surprise, looked past me at the slender, girlish figure; how Anna
Maria was suddenly transfixed--and I could not blame either of them! I
have scarcely ever seen Susanna Mattoni more charming, more maidenly,
than at that moment, when she stood in embarrassment before the young
friend of her father. I wondered if she had imagined he was different.

"A warm glow overspread her delicate face; Anna Maria blushed, too. I do
not know whether it was fear or anger that caused her to touch Klaus's
arm, as he stepped forward to say some words of welcome to Susanna.

"'Please come to the table!' called Anna Maria. 'Here, Fraeulein Mattoni,
beside Aunt Rosamond.' As we stood at our places she said, in a
strangely faltering voice, the old grace: 'The eyes of all wait upon
Thee, O Lord!' The 'Amen' almost stuck in her throat, and in the look
which she gave the young girl's dainty dress, and which fell with
especial sharpness on the white flowers, I saw what the clock had struck
for Anna Maria. It was almost amusing to me to compare the t