She went, and found four masons, who had been at work since daybreak to remove the wall and replace the door. Thusnelda was obliged to laugh in spite of the unhappy night she had passed, as she climbed over rubbish and ruins into her room, and met her maid dissolved in tears, who related to her that “the duke had had her walled in, for fear she would tell the trick to her mistress.” “And so you were really hermetically sealed?” said the duchess. “Yes, your highness,” whimpered the maid, “I thought I never should see daylight again. I wept and prayed all night. The only thing that consoled me was the duke’s command, which Philip brought to me, to give this little box to Fraulein so soon as the wall should be taken away in the morning.” “Give it to me, Lieschen,” cried Thusnelda, impatiently, her face beaming with satisfaction, however, when she opened the box. “Now, duchess, that is what I call a surprise, and the duke shall be, as he ever has been, my favorite. If he does sometimes play rude tricks, he makes it all right again, in a very generous and princely manner. See what a beautiful watch his highness has brought me, ornamented with diamonds!” “Yes, it is very pretty; give it to me that I may return it to the duke, and not mortify him too much, as you will not wear it.” “I will accept it, duchess,” cried Thusnelda, laughing--“and all is forgiven and forgotten.” CHAPTER XXIV. THE PURSE-PROUD MAN. “Trude, is there no news from him yet? Have you never seen him since? Did he not tell you about it?” “No, my dearest Marie,” sighed old Trude. “There is no word, no message from him. I have been twenty times to the baker’s in eight days, and waited at the corner of the street, where we agreed to meet, but no Moritz was there, and I have not been able to hear any thing about him.” “Something must have happened to him,” sighed Marie. “He is very ill, perhaps dying, and--” “No, no, my child, he is not ill, I will tell you all about it, if you will not worry. I have been to Herr Moritz’s lodgings to-day. I could not wait any longer, and--” “Did you see him, and speak with him, Trude?” “No Marie, he was not there; and the people in the house told me that he had been gone for a week.” “Gone!” repeated Marie, thoughtfully. “What does it mean? What could persuade him to abandon me in this hour of need? Tell me, Trude, what do you think? Console me if you can. You really know nothing further than that he is gone?” “A little bit more, but not much, my heart’s child. When the people told me that he had disappeared eight days ago, it seemed as if one of the Alps had fallen on my heart, and my limbs trembled so I could go no farther, and I was obliged to sit down upon the stairs and cry bitterly, picturing all sorts of dreadful things to myself.”