The doctor's visit had, after all, benefited the invalid. The spontaneous reaction which followed the violent fit of passion caused a sudden turn in his illness. The salutary crisis came of its own accord during the outburst of rage, which threw him into a profuse perspiration. The brain gradually returned to its normal condition. "You will get well again, will you not?" stammered the little maid shyly, laying her hand on the invalid's brow. "If you really want me to get well," returned Ludwig, "then you must comply with my request. Go to your room, take off these wet clothes, and go to bed. And you must promise never again to go on another errand like the one you performed this evening. I hope you may sleep soundly." "I will do whatever you wish, Ludwig--anything to prevent your getting angry again." The little maid returned to her room, took off her wet clothes, and lay down on the bed; but she could not sleep. Every hour she rose, threw on her wrapper, thrust her feet into her slippers, and stole to the door of Ludwig's room to whisper: "How is he now, Henry?" "He is sleeping quietly," Henry would answer encouragingly. The faithful fellow had forgotten his master's anger, and was watching over him as tenderly as a mother over her child. "He did not hurt you very much, did he, Henry?" "No; it did not hurt, and I deserved what I got." The little maid pressed the old servant's hand, whereupon he sank to his knees at her feet, and, kissing her pretty fingers, whispered: "This fully repays me." The next morning Ludwig was entirely recovered. He rose, and, as was his wont, drank six tumblerfuls of water--his usual breakfast. Of the events of the past night he spoke not one word. At ten o'clock the occupants of the Nameless Castle were to be seen out driving as usual--the white-haired groom, the stern-visaged gentleman, and the veiled lady. That same morning Dr. Tromfszky received from the castle a packet containing his medical belongings, and an envelop in which he found a hundred-guilder bank-note, but not a single written word. Meanwhile the days passed with their usual monotony for the occupants of the Nameless Castle, and September, with its delightfully warm weather drew on apace. In Hungary the long autumn makes ample amends for the brief spring--like the frugal mother who stores away in May gifts with which to surprise her children later in the season.