Hermann remained where he was, watching her. Hitherto, he had always stoutly maintained, that, with the exception of his grandmother, who, in consequence of her energetic, masculine character, he hardly reckoned as belonging to the feminine race, every woman either went into hysterics or fainted at the sight of danger, and was greatly astonished to find a second exception here. "I was not frightened," she had declared, and, indeed, she had not been. Her face had retained its usual colour, her hands did not tremble, as she went gently and deftly to work, the young girl showed just as much calmness now as she had just before shown presence of mind. The door of the neighbouring house now opened, and a woman, poorly and untidily dressed, with rough hair, and a dull, expressionless face, came hurriedly out to take the boy from a stranger's arms, the Count felt in his pocket. "The child was almost run over by my carriage, take more care of it in future. Here is something for the fright he got." The dull features of the woman, which had hitherto hardly shown any concern, lighted up at sight of the shining thalers which he held out to her in his haughty, indifferent way. She curtseyed low, and thanked the Gnaedigen Herrn Grafen[4] for his kindness. The young girl had half risen, her large eyes travelling slowly from the mother to the child, and then back to the money, which the former held in her hand. She stood up suddenly, turned her back upon the group, and without saying a word, went towards the inn. With quick steps Hermann overtook her. "You see the fright was soon atoned for. The woman will bless the chance which has thrown her day's wages for three weeks into her hands." The words sounded half mocking, and half like a sort of excuse. The girl pressed her lips together. "I did not think it possible that a mother could possess so little self-respect as to let anxiety for her child's safety be bought off in that way." Hermann smiled sarcastically. "Self respect! In a village woman? Pardon me, Fraeulein, you must come from a town, and cannot know our country folks." "One can make acquaintance with poverty in the town too, especially when no very great depth separates one from it, Herr Graf." Hermann bit his lips. "I meant," said he sharply, "that the education, which separates you from those people, is quite as wide a cleft. Have you really such sympathy for these dull-witted, degraded people?" "I sympathise with any one who is oppressed and miserable." "Really?" Meanwhile they had reached the inn, the young girl bowed slightly, and laid her hand upon the latch, but Hermann anticipated her. He opened the door for her, and followed her into the inn. She stopped and looked at him repellantly and with surprise, it was easy to see she did not wish to continue the conversation. But in spite of this the Count went on.