It was a small, unimportant little box, an old fashioned, insignificant piece of goods, which had belonged to her father, and which only a feeling of filial respect hindered the daughter from parting with. This legacy, almost the only one, which the orphan possessed, had hitherto accompanied her on every journey, and now it all at once fell over and broke, just at the moment when she was on the point of--Gertrud did not dare to complete the thought, but hastily pushed aside the books which had fallen out, and lifted the lid. The back of the box had burst in two, and out of the crack, squeezed in between the wood and the leather lining, gleamed a piece of white paper. Gertrud mechanically pulled it out, and was about to lay it aside, when her eyes suddenly fell upon a word, an autograph--she passed her hand hastily across her eyes--surely it must be some vision, that she always and everywhere should come upon the name that just now filled all her thoughts, but at the second glance she saw that her eyes had not deceived her. "Hermann Count Arnau" stood there in faded ink, but in clear, plain handwriting--stood there on the old fashioned paper, which had been long years in its hiding place, where it must have fallen from a hole in the inner pocket, through a hasty opening of the box. Gertrud's head seemed to swim, incapable of comprehending the facts connected with it--still half stunned from her previous agitation she unfolded the paper. It contained only a few lines, apparently very hurriedly put together, but in a business like form. The effect, however, upon the girl was like a lightning flash. She sprang up; her face, a moment since so pale, bathed in a deep flush, her eyes shining in passionate triumph, she pressed the new found paper with both hands against her breast, as if some one would tear it away, and her bosom heaved deeply--deeply, as if the weight of a whole life had been removed from it. But it was only for a moment, in the next she started at some remembrance, which laid an icy hand on her heart, the fateful paper sank from her trembling hands, she stared at it despairingly, and then raised her eyes with a bitter cry to Heaven. On this paper had once hung the honour and happiness of a whole family--then a mischievous chance had allowed it to disappear. Twice ten years had passed--two people had perished through its loss, and now chance had given back what was lost. "O, God, why, just in my hand? And why now, just now?"