"I wanted to give you a souvenir," said Irma, "but I think money will be
best for you. Look on the table, and take it all. I don't want any of
it. Take it, and don't be afraid; it is real money, won honestly at the
tables. I always win, always!... Take your kerchief and wrap it up." The
room was so dusky that Walpurga looked around in superstitious fear. The
money might be evil; she quickly made the sign of the Cross over it, and
put it into her ample pocket. "And now, farewell," said Irma. "Be happy.
You are happier than any of us. If ever I don't know where to go, I
shall come to you. You'll have me, won't you? Now go--go! I must sleep.
And don't forget me, Walpurga. Don't thank me, don't speak!"

"Oh, please let me speak, just one word! We both can't know which of us
will die, and then it would be too late. I don't know what's the matter
with you. You are not well, and you may get worse. You often have cold
hands and hot cheeks. I wronged you that day, soon after I arrived. I'll
never think bad of you again, no one shall say evil of you; but, please,
get away from the castle! Go home, to----"

"Enough," exclaimed Irma, thrusting forth her hands as though Walpurga's
words were stones thrown at her. "Farewell; and don't forget me." She
held out her hand for Walpurga to kiss; it was hot and feverish.
Walpurga went. The parrot in the ante-room screamed: "Good-bye, Irma."
Walpurga was frightened, and ran away as though she were chased.

Walpurga's homecoming was not pleasure unalloyed. She did not miss the
luxuries to which she had become accustomed. She rather relished the
hard, manual labour, to which she applied herself with full energy. But
her baby was a stranger to her, cried when she wished to take her up,
and became only gradually accustomed to her. Her faculties had been