l place; here stood her work-table, and
behind it on an easel, the portrait of the late Mr. Baumhagen. The
resemblance between the father and daughter was visible at a glance;
there was the same light brown hair, the intellectual brow, the small,
fine nose, and the eyes too were the same. She had always been his
darling, and it was her care that fresh flowers should always be placed
in the gold network of the frame. And where she sat at work her hands
would sometimes rest in her lap and her eyes would turn to the picture.
"My dear, good papa!" she would whisper then, as if he must understand.

To-day also, she walked quickly towards the bow-window and looked long
at the picture. "You would have done that too," she said, softly,
"wouldn't you, papa!" An earnest expression came suddenly into the
young eyes, something like inexpressible longing. "No, every one is not
like mamma and Jenny; there are warm human hearts, there are hearts
that feel compassion for a stranger's needs, for whom the detested--"
she stopped suddenly her small hands had clenched themselves and her
eyes filled with tears.

She began to pace up and down the room. The soft, thick carpet deadened
the sound of her footsteps, but the heavy silk rustled after her with
an anxious sound.

What humiliations she had to endure daily and hourly from the fact of
being a rich girl! She owed everything to the circumstance of having a
fortune. Jenny had just now declared to her again that she had only
been godmother, because--Ah, no matter, she knew better. Johanna was
too modest. But she had not yet recovered from that other blow. A week
ago there had been man[oe]uvres in the neighborhood, and the colonel
with his adjutant had had his quarters for two days in the Baumhagen
house. She could not really remember that she had spoken more than a
few commonplace words to the adjutant, and twenty-four hours after the
troops had left the city--yesterday--a letter lay before her filled
with the most ardent protestations of love and an entreaty for her
hand. She had taken the letter and gone to her mother with it, with the
words: "Here is some one who wishes to marry my money. Will you write
the answer, mamma? I cannot."

Now she was dreading the mention of this letter. She was not afraid
that her mother would try to persuade her. No, no, she had always been
independent enough not to order her life according to the will of
another, but the matter would be discussed and th