ith its cunning eyes, and
thinks, The rest are happy in rendering service, but I--I fatten
myself. The earth-worm rolls itself along in a proud feeling of triumph
that it can go through the streets and water-courses, whereon
everything is moving hither and thither. A mole, that has nestled in
the neighborhood, lies in wait for the moment when the maggot-worm is
taking a little nap, after its surfeit, and gobbles it up.

Such are the manifold operations of life and movement down there at the
roots, and such also are those in the servants' room of Villa Eden
above.

Herr Sonnenkamp has a wise rule, although many consider it
hard-hearted, that all his servants must be unmarried. They receive
good wages, are in want of nothing, but make no pretension to family
life. A beggar never comes into the well-kept garden, for he would
disturb its comfortable serenity. He receives alms, at the entrance,
from the keeper of the lodge, and the old cook oftentimes complains
that the remnants of food, which might nourish many a hungry one, go so
utterly to waste.

It is noon. They take their meals here, long before the table of their
master above is set. Two grooms and a third coachman, who keep watch in
the stables, eat by themselves in silence, for they must relieve the
others.

The superintendent here below is the head-cook, dressed in light
clothes, and called for shortness, "the chief;" of a burly and portly
figure, with a beardless face, and a large hawk-nose, he plays here the
marquis. His German is a sort of jargon, but he rules over the
subordinate cook and kitchen-maids, with absolute sway.

The watchmen have dined. A long table is laid for more than a dozen
persons, and they come in one after another.

The first who makes his appearance, or, rather, the one to whom the
first entrance is conceded, is the head-coachman, Bertram, with a
powerful, gigantic form. He has a great red beard, parted in two waving
masses coming to a peak, with an embroidered waistcoat covering his
hips, and over it a striped blue and white jacket, with just a slight
badge of distinction from that of the other coachmen.

With a greeting to the whole corps of servants, Bertram seats
himself at the head of the table with Joseph on his right, and the
head-gardener on his left. Next to this one, a little man, with seamed
face and rapidly glancing eyes, takes a seat; this is Lutz, the
courier. Then the rest seat themselves according to their rank, the