for her
mother, who went on to say:

"The things that are God's gifts we have just as good as they have them
in the palace."

"There! we've saved one poor soul," replied Walpurga with a smile, "I
said the very same words to Hansei, a little while ago."

When they had finished paring the potatoes for the next day, the mother
said:

"I'll tell you what. Let's close the front door, and sit on the little
seat your father was so fond of, in the grassy garden back of the
house. There we can talk to each other without being disturbed, and, as
the lights are out, we'll have no visitors. Nor do we want any, for
we're enough by ourselves."

"Oh God! if only my husband felt so, too."

"Let him alone at the inn. Thank God that we're alone together. Don't
act like a deposed queen; it only makes it so much the harder for you."

Mother and daughter went out through the back door that led to the
little garden, where they seated themselves on a bench which stood
against the wall and opposite the stable window, and left the back door
ajar so that they might hear the child if it should cry. They heard
nothing, however, except the noise, made by the cows while feeding. The
moon was high, and the shimmering surface of the lake reflected its
rays. Now and then, the _yodel_ of some distant mountaineer, the
barking of a dog, or the soft splash of an oar, were the only sounds
that broke the silence.

"If the first two weeks were only over," said Walpurga, "I'd be better
used to it."

"Don't wish for time to pass. It comes and goes of itself."

"Yes, mother; tell me everything I'm to do, I don't care to have my own
will now."

"That won't do, either. Those who can walk alone must fall alone."

"I'll try to do my best."

"Very well. Tell me one thing: how is it in the palace about now?"

"About now? Dear me, it seems two years since I left there. By this
time, the lamps have been lit in all the passageways, and downstairs,
where the king and the queen are, they're just about leaving the table.
But we have nothing to do with that. Mademoiselle Kramer is reading her
book. She reads a book through every day; and my prince. O you poor
child--"

Walpurga burst into tears. At the same moment, her own child began to
cry and the two women hurried in.

"It was only dreaming," said the mother softly. "The child must feel
that the right mother is come."

Walpurga again felt conscious of the double life she was leading.

Although she