She sat there silently, resting her head against the back of the chair and looking out into the golden sunlight that seemed to infuse all nature with new life. The grass was of a lovelier green than ever before; the lake glittered with the soft sheen of the ever-changing light; the waves were splashing against the shore; a gentle breeze wafted the odors of the violets and rosemary from the window-shelf into the room. A carriage stopped before the cottage. First, the loud cracking of a whip was heard; then, approaching footsteps, and at last, the jolly doctor calling out: "Hansei! Is there no one at home?" "No," answered Stasi, "there's nobody but Walpurga and me," whereupon there was great laughter out of doors. Doctor Kumpan entered the room, followed by the stranger, who started as if amazed. Moved with admiration by the sight he beheld, he bowed involuntarily; but, checking himself, he was more erect than before. "Where's Hansei, the Sunday child's father?" inquired Doctor Kumpan. The wife arose and said that he had gone to church with the child and its sponsors, but that he would soon return. "Keep your seat!" said the doctor. "I mean to be an unbidden guest at your christening dinner, and my friend here, who is also a man-killer like myself, will join us." "What do you want of my husband? Mayn't I know?" "The husband cuts the loaf and then helps his wife to some of it. You know that's the custom of the country, Walpurga. We want to talk to your husband about a matter of great importance. Don't get frightened, it isn't a law affair. All I have to say to you is, you've a Sunday child. Perhaps you're one yourself?" "I am, indeed." "So much the better; you're doubly fortunate." "It seems to me," said Doctor Sixtus, "we might as well speak to the wife at once. She appears to be a sensible woman and will be glad to make her husband and child happy." Walpurga looked about her as if imploring help.