very fortunate in a trader's family is the greatest misfortune in a
nobleman's."

I was astonished; for all my theories upon the count's past life were
falling to the earth.

"Still, Monsieur Knapwurst, the lord of Nideck has had great sorrows, had
he not?"

"Such as what?"

"The loss of his wife."

"Yes, you are right there; his wife was an angel; he married her for
love. She was a Zaân, one of the oldest and best nobility of Alsace, but
a family ruined by the Revolution. The Countess Odile was the delight of
her husband. She died of a decline which carried her off after five
years' illness. Every plan was tried to save her life. They travelled in
Italy together but she returned worse than she went, and died a few weeks
after their return. The count was almost broken-hearted, and for two
years he shut himself up and would see no one. He neglected his hounds
and his horses. Time at last calmed his grief, but there is always a
remainder of grief," said the hunchback, pointing with his finger to his
heart; "you understand very well, there is still a bleeding wound. Old
wounds you know, make themselves felt in change of weather--and old
sorrows too--in spring when the flowers bloom again, and in autumn when
the dead leaves cover the soil. But the count would not marry again; all
his love is given to his daughter."

"So the marriage was a happy one throughout?"