She pressed her hands to her face, her heart beat violently; but the weight did not become lighter, no tears came to cool her burning cheeks. She sat thus alone, in the spacious, sumptuous room, solitary, deserted, helpless, broken, longing for a word of comfort, of love--a singular, touching, moving picture in the eyes of a young girl, who had stood already for half a minute at the door, which she had gently opened and shut behind her, fearing to approach nearer, to give offence, to startle, and who now, casting timidity and fear from her, following the impulse of her heart, hastened with quick steps to the bowed-down form, and before the other could rise from her seat, or even understand clearly what had happened, or how it happened, was kneeling before her, and, seizing her hands, while she exclaimed: "Aunt, dear aunt! here I am! Don't be angry, I have so longed to see you; have you no kind word for me!" Valerie could not speak; her eyes were fixed on the young girl's face, which was glowing with tender shame and heartfelt pity. She suddenly flung her arms round her like a drowning man, who in the whirl of the stream grasps at the slender willow-stem; her head sank on the shoulder of the kneeling girl, and the tears which had been so long shut up in her troubled heart burst forth unrestrainedly. CHAPTER II. The outburst was so violent, and lasted so long, that Elsa became painfully embarrassed. How likely it was that the man of whom Aunt Sidonie had just said that he was sure to be present at their reception would come into the room--how soon Aunt Sidonie herself must follow her! She had only hastened up the staircase before her aunt, while the latter entered into conversation with the Councillor, who met them in the hall. While they were on their way to the hotel, she had been dreading all the time the solemn ceremoniousness of the good lady's behaviour on so important an occasion--the long-winded address, the offensive condescension with which she would meet her sister. She had silently regretted that she had persuaded her aunt to an immediate visit, and that she had not rather fulfilled her threat and gone alone. Now, thanks to her prompt decision, everything had happened so favourably; but now, too, poor Aunt Valerie must calm herself--must stop crying, and dry her tears, even if they were tears of joy--if she were really her good angel. So much the more indeed! Her good angel--she would try to be it, most certainly, and, oh, so willingly! She would never leave her again, at least in her thoughts and in her heart--would always be in thought and in heart near her, to comfort her, to help her, where she could, as much as she could; only now--now she must compose herself, and, quick, quick! let the black lace veil be arranged on her beautiful soft hair, and become again the great, dignified, proud lady that Aunt Sidonie had told her off, whom Aunt