former companions. She would also remember at times the applause of the
multitude. The well-known Loni, her former employer, had besought him to
win her back to his company, complaining loudly of her loss, because it
was difficult to replace her with an equally skilful young artist. It was
now evident how mistaken the juggler had been when he asserted that Kuni,
who was born among vagrants, would never live in a respectable family.
He, Lienhard, had great pleasure in knowing that the girl, on the road to
ruin, had been saved by Frau Sophia's goodness.

Lienhard's father had died shortly after Kuni entered her new home. Every
impulse to love dalliance, she felt, must shrink before this great
sorrow. The idea sustained her hopes. She could not expect him to seek
her again until the first bitterness of grief for the loss of this
beloved relative had passed away. She could wait, and she succeeded in
doing so patiently.

But week after week went by and there was no change in his conduct. Then
a great anxiety overpowered her, and this did not escape his notice; for
one day, while his young wife hung on his arm and added a few brief words
of sympathy, he asked Kuni if she was ill or if she needed anything; but
she answered curtly in the negative and hurried into the garden, where
the children, with merry shouts, were helping the gardener to free the
beds of crocuses and budding tulips from the pine boughs which had
protected them from the frosts of winter.

Another sleepless night followed this incident. It was useless to deceive
herself. She might as well mistake black for white as to believe that
Lienhard cared for her. To no one save his fair young wife would he grant
even the smallest ray of the love of which he was doubtless capable, and
in which she beheld the sun that dispensed life and light. She had