"Yes, God knows?" said Frau Pölitz. She pulled at her apron with an embarrassed look and drew nearer to Elsa on the little sofa, and went on in a low voice, "I ought not to talk about it, but you are so kind and good, and it lies so terribly heavy on my mind. If you would----" "If your husband has forbidden you to speak, you had better not tell me." The woman shook her head. "No, no, not that; he does not know--at least I hope not, although since yesterday--perhaps it is as well----" "Tell me then, it may calm you," said Elsa, who was frightened at the woman's evident excitement. "Yes, yes; true," said Frau Pölitz; "and you might also advise me as to what I shall do. Marie is--she has--if you look at me like that I cannot tell you--she has always been in all other respects a good, industrious, clever girl, only sometimes a little high-flown, poor thing. She was housekeeper over at Golm to the Count, for two years, although my husband never approved of it, as in a large house like that--you know well how it is--there are so many people, and in a bachelor's establishment it is difficult to keep order and discipline. But she had good wages, and all went on well till last Michaelmas, when she suddenly gave warning, without saying a word to us, and went to Sundin, also as housekeeper, to the President's. But that did not last long, and the President's lady, who is a very good lady--may God reward her!--looked after her; and we knew nothing about it all until the poor infant died, in November. My husband was quite frantic, as he lays great store by his family, which has seen better days, and especially this sister, who had always been his pet. But what was to be done? What is done is done, and when at Christmas our little Carl died, and I could not well manage the household work, I wrote to the President's lady and she sent her here to us, and wrote at the same time such a kind letter. I will show it to you next time you come. Marie has been a real help to me, and has cost us nothing. She has saved something, and the President's lady also helped, and she has often offered me her little store. Of course I have never taken it, although I am convinced that it is honestly earned, and that he--the father--has never troubled himself about the poor thing. She told me that herself, but always added, 'He knew nothing of it--nothing at all.' But that is impossible to believe, even if we, my husband and I, had no suspicion as to who could be the father. The name should never pass her lips, the poor girl said. And even yesterday it never did so." The woman paused for a few moments, as if to gather strength for what she still had to relate. Elsa's heart beat with sympathy, and with a dull fear, which increased every moment, for which, however, she could not account. What possible reference could the poor girl's story have to her! The woman had come quite close to her, and went on in a still lower voice: "Yesterday