The old woman led her to the fountain. She had brought a cup with her
and gave it to Irma. "Come, drink; good cold water's the best. Water
comforts the body; it cools and quiets us; it's like bathing one's soul.
I know what sorrow is too. One's insides burn as if they were afire."

Irma drank some of the water of the mountain spring. It seemed like a
healing dew, whose influence was diffused through her whole frame.

The grandmother led her back to her room and said, "You've still got
the shirt on that you wore at the palace. You'll never stop thinking of
that place till you've burned that shirt."

The old woman would listen to no denial, and Irma was as docile as a
little child. The grandmother hurried to get a coarse shirt for her, and
after Irma had put it on, brought wood and a light and burnt the other
at the open fire. Irma was also obliged to cut off her long nails and
throw them into the fire. Then Beate disappeared for a few moments, and
returned with Irma's riding-habit. "You must have been shot; for there
are balls in this," said she, spreading out the long blue habit.

A smile passed over Irma's face, as she felt the balls that had been
sewed into the lower part of the habit, so that it might hang more
gracefully. Beate had also brought something very useful,--a deerskin.
"Hansei sends you this," said she. "He thinks that maybe you're used to
having something soft for your feet to rest on. He shot the
deer himself."

Irma appreciated the kindness of the man who could show such affection
to one who was both a stranger and a mystery to him.