grown up, to appreciate her mother's sacrifices, or to feel towards her
anything like warm gratitude. She herself did all she could, and that
was not little, in the struggle for existence. It is even possible that
she was more grateful to Berbel, than to the baroness herself. For
Berbel voluntarily shared privations, to which the two ladies were
obliged to submit. Berbel was faithful, devoted, uncomplaining,
cheerful; and she was all this, not for the sake of a servant's pay,
since her wages were infinitesimally small, but out of pure affection
for her mistress.

Berbel had been the wife of Lieutenant von Sigmundskron's servant, who
had fallen beside his master, rifle in hand, his face to the enemy.
Mistress and maid were left alike widows on the same day, alike young
and portionless, the only difference being that Frau von Sigmundskron
had Hilda, while poor Berbel was childless. Then Berbel refused to go
away, once and for ever, and the officer's widow accepted the lifelong
devotion offered her, and the three cast in their lot together, to keep
themselves alive as best they could beneath the only roof that was left
to them.

Frau von Sigmundskron had been very much surprised when, on a sunny
June morning, three years before the time of which I write,
Greifenstein had appeared alone, arrayed in the most correct manner,
instead of being clad in the shooting coat he usually wore. She had
been still more astonished when he formally proposed to her an
engagement by which Greif should marry Hilda so soon as he had finished
his studies at the University. He told her frankly why he desired the
alliance. She knew of Rieseneck's disgrace, and she would understand
that the story was an injury to Greif. On the other hand he, Greif's
father, had never done anything to be ashamed of, and the lad himself