It was a name that suited her exactly, and there was nothing exaggerated in it, although a poet had given it her. This poet was Herr Thaddaeus Wiliszewski. He had studied philosophy in Lemberg, but unfortunately had been unable to pass his examination--a hopeful youth, who always wore a tightly buttoned Czamara and long hair, and who wrote verses, either for home use or for the Krakau "Ladies' Journal." The first time that Herr Thaddaeus saw Rachel Welt walking by the river in her poor Sabbath frock, he exclaimed in delight, "Now I understand the Bible at last! Esther must have looked like that when the King of Persia turned away his face and ordered that Haman should die on the gallows; and so must that other Esther, who induced our good King Kazimirz, the peasant's friend, to allow the Jews to settle freely in Poland, after the wise Germans had turned them out. She is Esterka, the queen!" And from that time forward all the educated people in Barnow called her nothing but Esterka Regina. I repeat that there was no exaggeration in this name. Perhaps I had better content myself with making this assertion. For were I to add that her eyes were deep, dark, and bright as the sea on a star-light night, that her hair was black and perfumed like a southern night, and that her smile resembled a dream of spring--you would even then have no clearer idea of her beauty. I knew her, and remember her well. But the thought of that lovely creature fills my heart with sorrow. Her beauty was anything but a blessing to the dear child--nay, it was perhaps a curse. Beautiful, queenly Esterka was very unhappy. She is so no longer, nor has she been so for many years. She is happy now. She is sleeping in the "good place." They laid her there to rest in peace one spring day long years ago. May her sleep be calm and sweet, for she suffered much, and her sorrow was even greater than her beauty. The cause of her death was entered in the register as heart complaint, and truly so, for she died of a broken heart. A most unusual thing to die of--far more unusual than any one thinks. Very few people die of it, and those who most loudly bewail their misery, and say that they are sure to die of a broken heart, generally live a long time, and at last die of old age or indigestion.