Henke had been awaiting her at home anxiously. He had just engaged in a love-affair with a music-hall singer, who had been entertaining the country people of the neighbourhood with her ditties during the August cattle-market season. "Countess Miramara" was a great success on the boards, for her costume reached upwards and downwards only just as far as was absolutely necessary; but she repelled the advances of the farmers, though they jingled persuasively the coin they had received in exchange for their oxen and pigs. She preferred to distinguish with her favour the handsome black-bearded trumpeter. Henke now wanted to show himself a gallant lover. He intended to present the countess with a bracelet. "Give me the money!" he cried to Lisbeth when she entered. "I have none," she replied. "Trautvetter won't give me any more." Henke tugged at his beard. This was a fatal upset to his calculations. What would the countess say if he broke his promise? He began quietly; "Oh, yes, he'll give you some! You must just be a bit nice to him." Lisbeth looked surprised. "What do you mean?" she said. "Well, you women can always manage a man if you only want to, don't you see? Just be really nice to him. It's all the same to me." And he left the room, much put out. His pretty wife shook her head thoughtfully. What had he meant by "a bit nice"? Going into the town on an errand she met the one-year volunteer. They walked part of the way together. Lisbeth had forgotten her embarrassment, and chattered away gaily. Suddenly she remembered her husband's incomprehensible words, and she began, smilingly; "Do you know, Herr Trautvetter, what my husband has just been saying to me, that I was to be really nice to you. Have I not been nice then?" "What did he mean by that?" Trautvetter asked sharply. "Well," she laughed, "I ought to have taken back some more money to-day. But I never mean to do that again. And then he said that if I were only really nice to you, you would give me lots of money." She started, so violently had the man struck his sword upon the ground, and he looked at her quite red and angry. "Just like the low brute!" he cried. "What! What do you mean?" Trautvetter could not contain his wrath. He blurted out: "Don't you know, Frau Lisbeth, what he meant?--that you should take me for a lover!" She met his glance with a straight look; then she hung her head, and walked dumbly beside him. "I will go back," she said suddenly. He took her hand and begged: "Forgive me, Frau Lisbeth! please!" She nodded silently and turned back on the road they had just traversed.