"Say no more, Trude, do not give way to passion," said Marie, wearily. "I am glad that she has at last found the happiness and content she has so long been seeking. On earth each one must seek out his happiness in his own way, and we can reproach no one because his is not ours." "But we can reproach every one who seeks it in a dishonorable way, and that her ladyship has done, and--" "Be still, Trude!" interrupted Marie; "you forget that she is my mother." "Why should I remember it?" cried Trude, passionately; "why should not I also, at last, forget what she has forgotten throughout her entire life? I hate her!" "And I," said Marie, softly, as she folded her hands piously and looked upward, "I forgive her with my whole heart, and wish her all the happiness she can desire." "Ah, Marie," cried the old woman, as she hurried forward, seized Marie's hands and covered them with kisses, "how good an angel my Marie is, and how wicked, how abominable an old woman I am! Forgive me, my child, I, too, will endeavor to be better, and to learn to be good and pious from you." "As if you were not so already, my dear nurse!" cried Marie, as she entwined her arms lovingly around the old woman, who had seated herself on a stool at her feet and was looking up at her tenderly. "As if you were not the best, the most loving, the kindest and the bravest of women! What would have become of me without you? How could I have survived these two long, terrible years, if you had not stood at my side like a mother? Who has worked with me and kept my little household in good order? Who nursed me when I was sick? Who cheered me in my hours of sadness, and laughed with me in my hours of gladness? You, my dear, kind nurse, you did all this: your noble, honest, brave heart has supported, guarded, and protected me. I thank you for all this; I thank you for your love, and if I should die, my last breath of life and my last thought will be a blessing for my dear, good nurse!" They held each other in a long and close embrace, and for a time nothing was heard but sighs and suppressed sobbing. Then old Trude released her darling, with a last tender kiss. "Here we are in the midst of emotions and tears," said she, "although we had determined to be cheerful and gay, in order that we might give our dear Philip a joyous reception if he should happen to come to-day, and not have to meet him with tear-stained countenances." "Do you, then, really consider it possible that he may come to-day?" asked Marie, eagerly. "Professor Gedicke said we might expect him at any hour," replied Trude, smiling. "Let us, therefore, be gay and merry; the days of pain and sorrow are gone, and hereafter your life will be full of happiness and joy." "Do you really believe so, Trude?" asked Marie, fastening her large luminous eyes in an intent and searching gaze on the pale, wrinkled countenance of her old nurse. She had the courage to smile, and not to falter under the anxious gaze of her darling.