"Then listen to what I've got to tell you. There's nothing more tiresome, or niggardly, than a good, simple marriage; that is, what they call a 'good marriage.' What does one get by it? Wages, a tip, once in a while from a stranger, or a few bottles of wine which one can make away with. In Baroness Steigeneck's time, it was quite different, for then the valets de chambre and every one about the place grew rich, and had houses in the town, and owned mortgages and estates. But now, thank God, it'll soon be different again." "I don't know what you mean," said Walpurga. "I wish I were in your place, only for one hour," replied Baum. "She thinks more of you than she does of any one. It was here that they came to an understanding, and, if you've a mind to, you can get all the money you want, and woods and fields and meadows besides. All I ask for, is the place of steward at the summer palace." "And how am I to do all that?" "Oh you--" laughed Baum. "Haven't you noticed anything? Haven't you eyes in your head? If the queen dies, the king will marry your countess. She's a free countess, and can marry any king; and if the queen doesn't die, it won't matter much anyhow." "I'd like to box your ears for saying such a thing; and the next minute you'll be cringing and bowing to them. How can you say such a thing?" "But if it's true?" "But it isn't true." "But if it were true, for all?" "It can't be true." "But I tell you it is." "And even if it were-- But, forgive me, good Countess! I don't believe a word of it, it's only he that says it.--If it were true, I'd rather die than ask for the wages of sin. You're a good-for-nothing fellow, and if you ever say such a thing again, I'll tell on you. Take my word for it, I will." Baum pretended that it was all a joke. But Walpurga could see no joke in the matter, and he was glad when she, at last, promised to say nothing about it. He remarked that he required no mediator and would manage to look out for himself. In Countess Irma's apartment, which was just below that of the crown prince and Walpurga, a scene of quite a different nature was going on. Bruno was there, and thus addressed Irma: "I'm in trouble, and I can't help saying that it's your fault. Mother Sylph has inflicted herself upon me, and is very much in my way. "Whom do you mean?" "My mother-in-law has come and has told me with a smile, that as long as my sister--she, too, might just as well be here." Irma covered her face with both her hands. "And do you, too, believe it?" "What matters it what I believe? It's the town-talk, and that's enough." "It isn't enough; I shall teach them to talk differently." "Very well. Go into every house, to every man and every woman, and tell them to think differently. But there's one thing you can do. Shall I tell you what it is?" Irma nodded a silent assent.