I came to a long, tolerably wide corridor, and wandered helplessly past several closed doors. Behind one of them I heard the rattling of pans and dishes; that must be the kitchen. I did not wish to summon a servant, so I stole softly on. And now I paused before a door through which I heard the sound of a woman's well-known voice--only a few words, but I felt by the hot tide which coursed through my veins that it had not lost its power over me during the four or five years of separation. And now I summoned up my resolution like a hero and knocked. Some one called "Come in," and I suddenly stood inside the apartment, confronting my old, inevitable fate. * * * * * She was sitting at the open window, and the sunbeams, piercing the foliage of the chestnut, flickered over her figure, leaving her head in shadow. At the first glance I saw that she had grown even more beautiful--a little stouter and more matronly, of course--but her face was still more instinct with intellect, and her nose had actually lengthened a trifle. She wore her hair in the same fashion as in her girlhood, only she had fastened over the coil behind a black-silk crocheted net, whose ends were knotted at her neck. No one would have perceived either her lineage or her present dignity as wife of the manager by her plain, dark-calico dress. But in her lap she held a red-velvet royal mantle--very threadbare, it is true--trimmed with gold-lace, in which she was mending a long rent, and a pile of knights' costumes, satin bodices, and plumed caps lay in a clothes basket beside her chair. "Good Heavens, Johannes!" I heard her suddenly exclaim. The royal mantle slipped from her hand, and she rose to her full-height, fixing her large brown eyes on me exactly as I had feared--as if a ghost had rudely startled her from her quiet thoughts. A little boy, about four years old, who had been playing with a Noah's ark on a piece of carpet at her feet, sprang up at the same time, seized her hand, and was now staring at me with mingled shyness and curiosity. At first I could say nothing. I was gazing steadily at the little fair head--her child, and her very image. She seemed to notice it, and, as if to disguise her first feeling of embarrassment, she bent over the little fellow, saying, "Go and shake hands prettily with the gentleman, Joachimchen. He is a dear uncle, and it is very kind in him to have sought out your mother again." But the child clung timidly to her arm, and would not approach me. "Yes, it is I, Frau Luise," I stammered at last, in some confusion. "I wanted, as my way brought me near you--. But you are looking so well, Frau Luise. How do you do? You are happy, I see--and the dear child--does Uncle Joachim know that he bears his name? He would surely be pleased."