d his children left me alone. Not knowing quite what to
do or what I was going to do, I got up and dressed. My harp had been
placed at the foot of the bed upon which I was lying. I passed the strap
over my shoulder and went into the room where the family were. I should
have to go, but where? While in bed I had not felt very weak, but now I
could scarcely stand; I was obliged to hold on to a chair to keep from
falling. The odor of the soup was too much for me. I was reminded
brutally that I had eaten nothing the night before. I felt faint, and
staggering, I dropped into a chair by the fire.

"Don't you feel well, my boy?" asked the gardener.

I told him that I did not feel very well, and I asked him to let me sit
by the fire for a little while.

But it was not the heat that I wanted; it was food. I felt weaker as I
watched the family take their soup. If I had dared, I would have asked
for a bowl, but Vitalis had taught me not to beg. I could not tell them
I was hungry. Why? I don't know, quite, unless it was that I could not
ask for anything that I was unable to return.

The little girl with the strange look in her eyes, and whose name was
Lise, sat opposite to me. Suddenly, she got up from the table and,
taking her bowl which was full of soup, she brought it over to me and
placed it on my knees. Weakly, for I could no longer speak, I nodded my
head to thank her. The father did not give me time to speak even if I
had been able.

"Take it, my boy," he said. "What Lise gives is given with a kind heart.
There is more if you want more."

If I want more! The bowl of soup was swallowed in a few seconds. When I
put down the soup, Lise, who had remained standing before me, heaved a
little sigh of content. Then she took my bowl and held it out to her
father to have it refilled, and when it was full she brought it to me
with such a sweet smile, that in spite of my hunger, I sat staring at
her, without thinking to take it from her. The second bowlful
disappeared promptly like the first. It was no longer a smile that
curved Lise's pretty lips; she burst out laughing.

"Well, my boy," said her father, "you've got an appetite and no
mistake."

I was much ashamed, but after a moment I thought it better to confess
the truth than to be thought a glutton, so I told them that I had not
had any supper the night before.

"And dinner?"

"No dinner, either."

"And your master?"

"He hadn't eaten, either."

"Then he died as mu