She did not return an answer, and retired towards the door. Her heart was touched at the distress which appeared to oppress her patient; and Albert, judging by her silence and the anxious expression of her countenance, which he construed into an affirmation to his question, that he was now in the hands of his enemies, exclaimed, "I am a prisoner then, separated from her without hope, without consolation, without the possibility of hearing from her perhaps for a long time!" The shock was too great for his weak state of body to withstand; a tear stole from his eye. The girl observed the tear: her anxiety was changed into pity, she approached nearer, and seating herself again by the bed-side, ventured to take the hand of the young man. "You must not give way to grief," she said, "your honour is well again, and----you can very soon proceed on your journey," she added, with a cheerful smile. "Proceed on my journey?" asked Albert, "then I am not a prisoner?" "Prisoner? no, certainly not; you might have been so, indeed, once or twice, for the patroles of the League often came to our house, but we always concealed you, because my father told us not to let any one see you." "Your father!" cried the young man, "who is your father? Where am I?" "Where are you?" answered Barbelle, "why, in Hardt, to be sure." "In Hardt?" a glance at the walls adorned with musical instruments convinced him that he was indebted to the man for his life and liberty, who had been sent to him from Bertha as a guardian angel. "So I am in Hardt? and your father is the fifer of Hardt, is he not?" "He does not like to be called by that name," said the girl; "he is certainly a musician, but he prefers being known by the name of Hans." "But how did I come here?" inquired Albert.