“Very well,” said Ebenstreit, to whom the words of Marie sounded as the sweetest music. “I will then accord your wishes, and you shall have the five hundred thalers for yourself.” “For me alone?” “Yes, for yourself alone, Frau von Werrig.” “Who vouches for the fulfilment of your promise?” “My word, Frau von Werrig.” “I have no confidence but in a written promise.” “Then I will have it made out, and bring you the document to-morrow morning.” “Then our business is finished, and I can go.--Farewell, baroness; this is my last word to you. I cursed you from the moment you came into being. If you had been a son, the rich estate in trust of my family would have passed to you, of which I was the natural heir. As it was, it went to a distant relative, and we received nothing. Therefore your parents could not rejoice at your birth, and we only pardoned you when you married a rich man, who could free us from want, and now the separation is no grief to us. You have always been a disagreeable burden, and I am only quit of a discomfort, and renounce forever the sight of you.--Give me your arm, my son, and accompany me at least to the threshold of your house, that you may be able to say to this cold-hearted viper, that she is forever rid of the sight of her mother, who will never think of her but with chilling contempt.” She seized Ebenstreit by the arm, who had not the courage to resist her, and drew him along with her, casting a look of supreme disgust at old Trude, who stood pale and sad near the door. CHAPTER XXXIV. BEHIND THE MASK. As the door closed, and Marie found herself alone with her old friend and nurse, a peculiar change was visible in her sad face; something of its former sunny radiance brightened its usually sorrowful expression, and she turned to greet Trude with the smile of earlier, happier days, though it was tinged with sadness and grief. Impulsively she threw her arms around her faithful nurse, kissing her, and, with quivering lip, whispering: “A greeting and a blessing for you, dear mother! Take me to your kind, disinterested heart, and let me there find repose from all this torture and love the poor lost one, who--” She drew suddenly back, her face assuming its usually cold, look as she heard her husband enter. “She is gone, dear Marie. I hope that you are gratified with my decision, and perceive therein a proof of my excessive love and esteem for you,” said Ebenstreit, drawing a long breath. “I did not desire this polite evidence of it,” she coldly responded. “We have solemnized our entrance into this house in a fitting manner, and the important matter remaining for us is to make known our arrival to the society of Berlin. The horses purchased in Alexandria, and the new carriage from London, have already arrived--have they not?” “My book-keeper so informed me a fortnight since, when we were in Paris, and complained of the enormous sum which he had to disburse.”