Grete was quite alone with her companion—a young girl who, Miss Brunel could see even in that partial darkness, was very pretty, and of a type much more common in the north of Baden and Bavaria than in the Schwarzwald. She was not over twelve years of age; but she had the soft grave eyes, the high forehead, the flaxen hair, and general calm of demeanour which characterize the intellectual South German. She was Grete’s confidante and companion; and together, whenever they got a chance, they were accustomed to steal away to this summer-house, and sing those concerted melodies which the children of the Black Forest drink in with their mothers’ milk. Grete gave a little cry of surprise when she saw the dark form of the young English lady appear; and then her thought was that something had gone wrong with the gentleman who was wounded. "I want you, Grete, for a moment," said Annie Brunel in French to her. "Ah, mademoiselle," she said, dislocating her French in sudden compassion; "ce n’est pas que Monsieur Anerley se sent encore malade? L’homme qui mon père envoyait chercher le médecin me dit qu’il ya meilleur——" "Don’t disquiet yourself, Grete," said Miss Brunel. "Mr. Anerley is not severely hurt. I wanted to ask you if you would come with me to Switzerland—— "To Switzerland!" said Grete; and her companion’s soft eyes looked up with a mystic wonder in them. "Would you like to go?" "Yes, mademoiselle, very much; but I have promised to go to see my cousin Aenchen Baumer, at the Feldberg, in a day or two." "Come indoors, and let us hear what your father says. Your friend will forgive me for a few minutes." They all then left the garden and went round to the front of the inn. They found the Count and Mrs. Christmas standing outside, and listening to the prodigious singing-bout which was being held within by the keepers and the beaters; the chorus following each verse of the various hunting-songs being accompanied by the measured beating of hands and feet on the tables and wooden floor. "If mademoiselle goes forward to the window," said the little grave German girl with the yellow hair, "she will hear better, and Herr Spiegelmann is about to sing ’Der Weisse Hirsch.’"