So long as his foster-parents lived he had had news from them of the
Blombergs. After the death of the old couple, Barbara's father had
answered in a very awkward manner the questions which he had addressed to
him in a letter, and his daughter wrote a friendly message under the old
captain's signature. True, it was extremely brief, but few fiery love
letters ever made the recipient happier or were more tenderly pressed to
the lips.

The girl he loved still bore the name of Barbara Blomberg.

This outweighed a whole archive of long letters. The captain, who, for
the sake of fighting the infidels, had so sadly neglected his property
that his own house in the Kramgasse fell into the hands of his creditors,
had rented the second story in the cantor house. Barbara at that time
was very small, but now she had ceased to be a child, and, after she
devoted herself earnestly to acquiring the art of singing, the old
warrior had undertaken to keep the little chapel in order.

The task certainly seemed strangely ill-suited to the tall, broad-
shouldered man with the bushy eyebrows, long beard, and mustache twisted
stiffly up at the ends, who had obtained in Tunis and during the Turkish
war the reputation of being one of the most fearless heroes, and carried
away severe wounds; but he knew how to make scoffers keep their distance,
and did not trouble himself at all about other people.

Regularly every evening he went down the stairs and performed the duty he
had undertaken with the punctilious care of a neat housewife.

He was a devout man, and did his work there in the hope of pleasing the
Holy Virgin, because the reckless old warrior was indebted to her for