sorry for the ill health of the mistress of the house, but for several
years the lamentations and anxiety concerning her had been ceaseless.
The young prince's death had startled rather than saddened them. They
did not know him, but it was terrible to die so young and so suddenly.
They would not have listened to a merry tale which stirred them to
laughter, but Biberli's stories of distant lands, of the court, of war,
of the tournament, just suited their present mood, and the narrator was
well pleased to find ready listeners. He had so many things to forget,
and he never succeeded better than when permitted to use his tongue
freely. He wagged it valiantly, too, but when the thunderstorm burst he
paused and went to the window. His narrow face was blanched, and his
agile limbs moved restlessly. Suddenly remarking, "My master will need
me," he held out his hand to Katterle in farewell. But as the zigzag
flash of lightning had just been followed by the peal of thunder, she
clung to him, earnestly beseeching him not to leave her. He yielded,
but went out to learn whether Herr Casper was still in the office, and
in a short time returned, exclaiming angrily: "The old Eysvogel seems to
be building his nest here!"

Then, to the vexation of the clumsy old cook, whom he interrupted by his
restless movements in the Paternosters she was repeating on her rosary,
he began to stride up and down before the hearth.

His light heart had rarely been so heavy. He could not keep his thoughts
from his master, and felt sure that Heinz needed him; that he, Biberli,
would have cause to regret not being with him at this moment. Had the
storm destroyed the Ortlieb mansion he would have considered it only
natural; and as he glanced around the kitchen in search of Katterle, who,
like most of the others, was on her knees with her rosary in her hand,
old Martsche rushed in, hurried up to the cook, shook her as if to rouse