Moreover, there was Greif, and Greif was to marry Hilda, after which
all would be well again. Greif, with his money, would build and restore
and furnish the old castle, and bring back the breath of life into the
ancient halls and corridors. But in order that Greif might marry Hilda,
it was necessary that Hilda should grow up beautiful, and to grow up at
all, it was necessary that Hilda should be fed.

It had come to that, to the very question of food, of mere bread to
eat. There was not enough for two, but Hilda must not starve. That was
the secret which no one, not even Hilda herself must ever understand.
During the first years, it had not been so hard to live. There had been
a few poor jewels to sell, a few odds and ends that had brought a
little money. While Hilda was a little child it had been easier, for
she had needed but few clothes and, being little, had needed to eat
less. But at last there had come a day when Frau von Sigmundskron, not
so thin nor so pale as now, had seen a hungry look stealing into the
eyes of the fair-haired girl. It was little enough that they had
between them, but the mother said to herself that she could keep alive
with less. The careful economy which bought nothing not capable of
sustaining life and strength could go no further. There were but so
many pence a day for food, and to expend more to-day was to starve
tomorrow. From that moment Frau von Sigmundskron began to complain of
headache, and especially of loss of appetite. She could not eat, she
said. She did not think there was anything the matter, and she would
doubtless be better in a few days. But the days ran on to weeks, the
weeks to months, and the months to years, and Hilda grew tall and fair,
unconsciously eating her mother's portion of the daily bread. No
hermit ever lived upon so little as sufficed for the baroness; no
perishing, shipwrecked wretch ever measured out so carefully the ounce
of biscuit that must maintain life from day to day; no martyr ever