itsunday I was with my father at St. Blasius. There was a woman
there who had painted her cheeks red, and put flour on her neck and
forehead. There she sat, in broad daylight, and looked boldly at
people, to see if they saw her beautiful red cheeks and white neck,
while she herself knew that she was not young, but on the contrary, old
and wrinkled."

"I understand. You think it is unworthy of your father."

"Unworthy?" repeated Thoma, for this expression, from a higher sphere
of thought, affected her strangely; and the judge's wife continued:
"Child, your thoughts at first were not so hard, but by degrees they
have grown sharper, have become bitterer and more poignant; and that
which should have softened you only made you more harsh. When your
father was humble it revolted you, and when he was proud, likewise."

Thoma's eyes grew larger and larger. She was like a patient whom the
physician tells exactly how he feels; and this amazement at another's
knowledge becomes a preparation for, and the commencement of a cure.

The judge's wife laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Dear Thoma, in imprisonment a man can only do no evil; but at liberty
he can do good. My child, your love of truth is good, beautiful, and
excellent, but--how shall I say it?--it is not in place now----"

The good lady was sensible of a deep embarrassment, and her face
reddened as though with shame. She, who was always urging
straightforwardness, should she now shake this girl's strict truth?

But she recovered herself, and continued: "If your father did deny the
truth, he is suffering a heavy punishment, because you also deny it."

"I?"

"Yes. You disown your child's heart. Don't tremble. You need not
promise me anything, except that you will once again examine yourself
earnestly and conscientiously. And your doing so will show itself in
the matter for which in reality I sent for you. My brother may soon
come, and I must arrange this with you quickly."

The judge's wife then told her about Anton; how much every one
esteemed and loved him; and how honorably and beautifully he had
expressed himself after his return from Holland. She showed Thoma her
mistake--how she, from upright and honorable feeling--and this
commendation did good--was acting wrongly, both toward her parents and
her lover.

"You think," she added, "you think you cannot call your lover yours
again, because you cannot bring him the same honor that he brings you."

"Oh, how do you