"No, she is well and good-hearted, but she is more free and unconventional than she should be at her age." "She has been brought up in the country, and a fine, clever girl she is," replied the baron, soothingly. "Yes, but she is too frank in her manner toward strangers," continued his wife; "I fear that she is in danger of becoming an original." "Well, and is that a very great misfortune?" asked the baron, laughing. "There can be no greater to a girl in our circle. Whatever is unusual in society is ridiculous, and the merest shade of eccentricity might ruin her prospects. I am afraid she will never improve in the country." "What would the child do away from us, and growing up with strangers?" "And yet," said the baroness, earnestly, "it must come to this, though I grieve to tell you so. She is rude to girls of her own age, disrespectful to ladies, and, on the other hand, much too forward to gentlemen." "She will change," suggested the baron, after a pause. "She will not change," returned the baroness, gently, "so long as she leaps over hedge and ditch with her father, and even accompanies him out hunting." "I can not make up my mind to part with both children," said the kind-hearted father; "it would be hard upon us, indeed, and hardest upon you, you rigid matron!" "Perhaps so," said the baroness, in a low voice, and her eyelids moistened; "but we must not think of ourselves, only of their future good." The baron drew her closer to him, and said in a firm voice, "Listen, Elizabeth; when in earlier days we looked forward to these, we had other plans for Lenore's education. We resolved to spend the winter in town, to give the child some finishing lessons, and then to introduce her into the world. We will go this very winter to the capital." The baroness looked up in amazement. "Dear, kind Oscar," cried she; "but--forgive the question--will not this be a great sacrifice to you in other respects?" "No," was the cheerful reply; "I have plans which make it desirable for me to spend the winter in town." He told them, and the move was decided upon. CHAPTER IV. The sun was already low when the travelers reached the suburbs of the capital. First came cottages, then villas, then the houses crowded closer, and the dust and noise made our hero's heart sink within him. He would soon have lost his way but for Veitel Itzig, who seemed to have a preference for by-streets and narrow flag-stones. At length they reached one of the main streets, where large houses, with pillared porticoes, gay shops, and a well-dressed crowd, proclaimed the triumph of wealth over poverty. Here they stopped before a lofty house. Itzig pointed out the door with a certain degree of deference, and said, "Here you are, and here you will soon get as proud as any of them; but, if you ever wish to know where I am to be found, you can inquire at Ehrenthal's, in Dyer Street. Good-night."