Johanna's reply was to take up a newspaper and remark that she would look through the advertisements of lodgings; in which occupation she became shortly absorbed, whilst Helena felt offended at her persistent reserve, and looked forward to her departure as a relief. Johanna started on her tour of discovery, and the mysterious something which we call chance befriended her, leading her, after several fruitless applications, to the family of a teacher, who advertised for a couple of young girls to board. She drove a short distance outside the city, and arrived at an old dark two-storied structure, with small grated windows on the ground-floor. A creaking wooden staircase led up from a dim, damp hall. Johanna's courage fell; but when on the landing she opened a door the bell of which rang clearly as she did so, and which bore the name Rupprecht upon a china plate, she entered another world,--clean, whitewashed walls, clear windows, and an open door opposite which seemed to lead out from the second story into the open air. She had no time for further observation. At the sound of the bell of the opening door, the doors of the rooms on each side opened. The next moment Johanna was surrounded by three pretty blonde girls and two barking dogs; and as soon as she had, with some difficulty, made known her wishes, she was conducted into the little drawing-room, where an elderly, worn, lady-like woman rose from her seat at the window. "Mother, the lady wishes to see our rooms." The woman curtsied. "Pray be seated," she said, with a motion towards the old sofa. Johanna's eyes followed her gesture, and with an exclamation of surprise she approached. She was not mistaken; upon the wall above the sofa hung a photograph of her foster-brother. "Do you know Dr. Werner?" the woman asked, and her sad eyes brightened. "He is my foster-brother," Johanna replied. "He was my son's best friend," the other said, and her eyes filled with tears. "My poor Paul died in his arms. That is his picture beside Dr. Werner's." Johanna recollected now that Ludwig had come to Dönninghausen on New Year's eve, two years before, from the death-bed of a friend in Hanover. She soon informed the little circle of this, and that she could tell them of Ludwig. "What a pity that our father and the little ones are not here!" the blonde sisters said almost together. "But church must soon be over. How glad they will be!" Johanna at last referred to the business that had brought her here, saying that she wished for lodgings for herself and a little sister, who, after a severe illness, was unable to travel, and that she should need the rooms until the return of the child's mother and step-father from Russia.