"Junker Georg?" asked the young lady.

Maria interrupted the child's reply, and answered in an embarrassed tone:

"Herr von Domburg, an officer who came to the city with the Englishmen,
of whom I spoke to you--a German--an old acquaintance. Go and arrange
the flowers with Adrian, Bessie, then I'll come and help you."

"Here, with Cousin Henrica," pleaded the child.

"Yes, little elf, here; and we'll both make the loveliest wreath you ever
saw."

The child ran out, and this time, in her delight, forgot to shut the door
gently.

The young wife gazed out of the window. Henrica watched her silently for
a time and then exclaimed:

"One word, Frau Maria. What is going on in the court-yard? Nothing?
And what has become of the happy light in your eyes? Your house isn't
swarming with guests; why did you wait for Bessie to tell me about Junker
Georg, the German, the old acquaintance?"

"Let that subject drop, Henrica."

"No, no! Do you know what I think? The storm of war has blown to your
house the young madcap, with whom you spent such happy hours at your
sister's wedding. Am I right or wrong? You needn't blush so deeply."