drils of
reviving life, blighting them.

"I am sorry for you," said Karen. "And I understand."

Madame von Marwitz stared at her for another silent moment. "Yes," she
then said, "you are sorry for me. You understand. It is my child's great
heart. And you forgive me, Karen?"

Again came silence; then, restlessly turning her head as if the effort
to think pained her, Karen said, "What do you mean by forgiveness?"

"I mean pity, Karen," said Madame von Marwitz. "And compassion, and
tenderness. To be forgiven is to be taken back."

"Taken back?" Karen repeated. "But I do not feel that I love you any
longer." She spoke in a dull, calm voice.

Madame von Marwitz remained kneeling for some moments longer. Then a
dark flush mounted to her face. She became aware that her knees were
stiff with kneeling and her cheeks salt with tears. Her head ached and a
feeling of nausea made her giddy. She rose and looked about her with dim
eyes.

A small wooden chair stood against the wall at a little distance from
the bed. She went to it and sank down upon it, and leaning her head upon
her hand she wept softly to herself. Her desolation was extreme.

Karen listened to her for a long time, and without any emotion. Now that
the horror had passed, her only feeling was one of sorrow and
oppression. She was very sorry for the weeping woman; but she wished
that she would go away. And her mind at last wandered from the thought
of Tante. "Where is Franz?" she asked.

The fount of Madame von Marwitz's tears was exhausted. She dried her
eyes and cheeks. She blew her nose. She gathered together her thoughts.
"Karen," she said, "I will not speak of myself. You say that you do not
love me. I can only pray that my love for you may in time win you to me
again. Never again, I know it, can I stand before you, untarnished, as I
stood before; but I will trust my child's deep heart as strength once
more comes to her. Pity will grow to love. I will love you; that will be
enough. But I have come to you not only as a mother to her child. I have
come to you as a friend to whom your welfare is of the first importance.
I have much to say to you, Karen."

Madame von Marwitz rose. She went to the washhand-stand and bathed her
face. The triumph that she had held in her hand seemed melting through
her fingers; but, thinking rapidly and deeply, she drew the scattered
threads of the plan together once more, faced her peril and computed her
resources.

The stil