"You must know that old Baumann was my father's servant, after having made all the campaigns against Napoleon in his regiment. He has rocked me, when I was a child, on his knees, has never left me since, and will not leave me till I die or he dies. Twice he has saved my life, and, without my knowing it or desiring it, shared every one of my sorrows, and, I may say, every joy. If I were to say to him: Baumann, you will have to go to Australia to-morrow for me! he would say: Yes, ma'am! pack his things over night, and be on his way before sunrise. And if I said: I cannot help it, Baumann, but you will have to die for me! he would say, Yes, ma'am! and not move a muscle. But if I said to him, _Please_ hear, Baumann, or call him _Mr._ Baumann, he would think our friendship at an end. Now he is angry because I have not told him who you are. When he will know that, and find out that I am glad to see you here, he will be content again. Now mind what will happen. He will come back to tell us that he can do absolutely nothing for us. Thereupon I will give him the information about you, and make believe to go myself. Then we shall have peace. But you must look friendly when I mention you to him, you hear?" "Don't fear, madam. I will be friendly, and smile as mildly as one of Guido Reni's angels." The door opened once more. The old servant entered, marched into the room, remained standing precisely on the same spot as before, and said, looking again at Oswald: "No possibility whatever, ma'am!" "But, Baumann, that is a great pity. Here is Doctor Stein, who has specially come over from Grenwitz, and on foot, too, to talk with Mr. Bemperlein about Julius. And now both have driven out, and we cannot offer him a mouthful to eat or a glass of wine. And I myself have eaten nothing, as you know, since the morning, and am almost perishing for hunger." Oswald found it difficult to keep the smile, which he had been ordered to show, from degenerating into broad laughter as he saw how the old man's face grew brighter and brighter with every word which Melitta uttered. At last he turned his look from one to the other, as if he were going to say: Well, you see, young people, after all, you can do nothing without old Baumann! Then he said: "Well, as to the cellar-key, I have that in my pocket, ma'am." "To be sure, and how about the key to the pantry?" "Barely possible that mam'seile has put it again under the doorsill, although I have warned her against that many a time." "Won't you look, Baumann, if it is there?" "Yes, ma'am." As soon as the door had closed after the old man, Melitta threw herself laughing into the rocking-chair. "Did I not tell you?" she cried, rocking to and fro, joyous as a child that has had its will; "did I not tell you?" Oswald had taken a seat opposite to her, at the large round table, on which an open album and drawing materials lay scattered about. His hand was playing with the pencil while he looked at Melitta, lost in thought.