'Monsieur Gabriel!' she said, 'I have great news, so strangely unexpected that I wonder if I am dreaming it! Read this letter of my brother's, and give me your advice.' The old man stretched out his left hand to take the paper, while his right hand remained on the organ keys, and as he read he played a few chords. 'Helas!' he murmured as he refolded the letter, 'so the time has come when you must go forth into the world. Well, well--it is right; you are wasted here, though God knows it will be very dark without you.' 'But, Monsieur Gabriel,' she said, 'you talk as though I should start to-morrow! I have not told my mother yet, and I have come to you for advice. Where could I get the money to pay my journey? It will cost many gulden.' The old man smiled. 'Money? your brother sends you none, of course? Your mother? she also has none. Does Friedrich think you can fly southward on a swallow's wing? And the swallows have gone to the south long ago,' he added dreamily. 'O Monsieur Gabriel,' cried Wilhelmine, 'help me!--you have always helped me! tell me where to get this money.' 'My child, I must think; do you know what the cost will be? No, nor I either; but let me see--how long has this letter been on the road?--sixteen days--and you could not travel so far without rest and refreshment. Well! you must have a hundred gulden. But, child, to what am I sending you?' Wilhelmine started; she knew by his last words that he could procure the money. 'To success!' she answered in a low voice. 'Success? Yes, probably, but that is the greatest danger! We can most of us remain pure of heart, tender, generous while we are poor or sad, but it is when the world smiles that the heart so often grows cold and hard.' Wilhelmine clambered on to the organ bench, pushing Monsieur Gabriel gently aside. She struck a chord, but the half-witted bellows-blower, whose presence they had forgotten, had ceased to pump air into the organ, and there came only a painful droning from the empty pipes. She called to him imperiously, and with a muttered grumble he resumed his pumping. 'A bad omen,' said Wilhelmine; 'I strike a chord and I achieve dissonance and wailing.' She threw back her head and pressed her fingers on the keyboard: this time a thin flute-like chord came forth, and Wilhelmine lifted her voice and sang: 'Cher ami de ma jeunesse Souriez a ma liesse-- Au Printemps chansons et fleurs! Pour l'hiver gardons les pleurs. Cher ami, la vieillesse Est reveche a l'alegresse Je cueillerai les douces fleurs Pour l'hiver gardant mes pleurs.'