alone, one creature who could not do without her, one fragile human plant
to which she could be useful and helpful day and night.

Under the care of a faithful nurse little Juli gradually grew stronger,
both physically and mentally. The little girl's wan cheeks began to be
rosy, the convulsions and fever attacked her less frequently. Besides
the faint "Baba," she learned to babble "Duni," (instead of Kuni) and
afterward "Mother," and many other words. At last she talked nearly as
well as other children of her age. All this afforded the lame girl a
wealth of sweet joys wholly new to her, which afforded her heart such
warmth and solace that, in spite of the cough which tormented her during
many an hour of the day and night, she felt happier during her homeward
journey with the fierce blasphemer Cyriax, from whom she expected the
worst things, than in the brilliant days of her fame as an artist.
Doubtless, as they approached Germany, she often wondered what Lienhard
would think of her, if he should meet her amid such surroundings, as the
companion of so worthless a couple; but the terror that overpowered her
was transformed into pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would
approve, nay, praise her conduct, when she could show him the child, and
tell him what she had done for it.

This state of affairs had continued until two months before. Then,
at Schaffhausen, her darling had suddenly been attacked with violent
convulsions, and the feeble intellect, which her love had so toilsomely
and faithfully waked from its slumber, only too soon attained eternal
peace. In all Kuni's sorrowful life she had scarcely experienced any
grief so bitter. When she closed the little eyes which had gazed into
her pale face so often and so tenderly, it seemed as if the sun, moon,
and stars had lost their light, and henceforth she was condemned to
live in dreary gloom.