She rang, and Anton was summoned. Lenore went to meet him, and with tearful eyes silently held out her hand. Anton was moved when he saw the traces of suffering in her mother's face. The baroness prayed him to be seated, and in well-chosen words expressed her gratitude for all he had done, and asked him both for information and advice. Then she went on to say, "My husband wishes to speak to you. I earnestly beg you to remember that the baron is an invalid. He has suffered fearfully in mind and body. He is never free from pain, and his helplessness distresses him inexpressibly. We are careful to avoid whatever may excite him, and yet we can not avert dark hours, nay, days. You, sir, will be considerate if his gloomy mood should affect you disagreeably. Time, they say, heals all. I hope it will restore him to peace." Anton promised all possible consideration. "My husband will naturally wish to be placed in possession of all the facts connected with this property, and yet I dread any painful impressions for him. Therefore, whenever you have any thing important to communicate, try to make the matter intelligible to me in the first instance. I may thus spare you much that is disagreeable. I shall have my writing-table carried into one of the rooms near yours, and I shall daily spend part of my mornings there. Lenore is her father's private secretary. And now, be kind enough to wait till I have announced your visit to the baron." The baroness left the room. Anton looked down gravely. Lenore went up to him and said, as cheerfully as she could, "Brown walls, Wohlfart! my favorite color. You are not glad we are come, you ungallant man!" "Only on your own account," replied Anton, pointing to the snowy plain. "Whenever I walked through the fields, I have always thought how lonely you would be here, and when I paced these great rooms of an evening, I have feared that your time would hang very heavily. The town is more than six miles distant, and even there you will find but little; the wretched lending-library will hardly satisfy you." "I will draw," said Lenore; "I will do fancy work. Alas! I shall find it difficult, Mr. Wohlfart, for I am not skillful. I do not care for lace on either cuff or collar; but mamma, who is accustomed to have every thing so beautiful, and in such order--oh, how sorry I am for mamma!" Anton tried to comfort her.