was a different thing, and had never troubled her conscience. So she
carelessly gathered a few pinks. Three should go to the sick woman, but
Lienhard Groland would have the largest and finest. She would try to
slip the flowers into his hand, with the money, as a token of her
gratitude. But even while saying to herself that these blossoms should
be her last greeting to him, she felt the red spots burning more hotly on
her cheeks. Ah, if only he would accept the pinks! Then the most cruel
things might happen, she could bear them.

While kneeling before the bed, the waiter, Dietel, noticed her. As she
saw him also, she hurried back to the suffering mother as fast as her
lame limb would carry her, and raised the jug of fresh water to her
parched lips.

This had been a delicious refreshment to the sick woman, and when Kuni
saw how much comfort her little service afforded the invalid, her heart
grew lighter. Had it been possible she, who was of no importance to any
one, would willingly have lain down on the heap of straw in the place of
the mother upon whom two young lives depended.

How delightful it was to bring aid! And she possessed the means of being
helpful.

So, with sparkling eyes, she pressed the three gold coins into the
sufferer's burning hand, and told her that the village authorities would
rear the twins for such a sum. Then the parched lips of the fevered
woman lauded the merciful kindness bestowed by the lame ropedancer--who
at that moment seemed to her as powerful as a queen--so warmly and
tenderly that Kuni felt the blood again mount into her cheeks--this time
with shame at the praise which she deserved so little, yet which rendered