"You are a plucky little girl," he said. "I am much obliged to you." That was all. He might, at least, have said that he hoped she would go on and prosper. She ran out to cool her hot cheeks in the shade of the limes. Her throat felt like lead from her strangled tears. She was depressed by the consciousness that her soul's elated triumph had been followed by a humiliation. She had expected something tremendous, unspeakable. What, she hardly knew herself. At any rate, she need not have been thanked so curtly, almost grudgingly. Near the obelisk she came on Elly, exercising grandmamma's pug at the end of a blue ribbon, which was not in the least necessary. She ran to meet Hertha with an air of great importance, saying a terrible misfortune had happened, and her whole future happiness was at stake. She really thought she should have to put an end to herself. "What _is_ the matter?" asked Hertha. It was this. Christian had reported that this morning a sealed letter addressed to her had been lying on Uncle Kutowski's table, and that now it had disappeared. "Well, what harm is there in that?" asked Hertha. "You should never have had any secrets with that dreadful old man." Elly blushed and stuttered. She had not exactly had secrets; it was only that uncle had been so obliging, and the last time she had met Kurt Brenckenberg he had promised that the song he had composed for her should be sent to her through Uncle Kutowski. "If you will do such stupid things, Mouse," said Hertha, turning her back, "we can't go on being friends." But Elly threw her arms around her from behind, and entreated and implored her to help her just this once. She would never do it again. And when she had sealed this vow with a solemn kiss and shake of the hand, Hertha consented to do what she could in advising her. First of all it seemed advisable to reconnoitre the spot where the letter had been seen in the morning. Hertha made a short cut through bushes and hedge to the bailiff's house, and Elly, who despite her agitation had not let go of the fat pug, obediently followed. The bailiff's house was deserted as usual at this hour, and in consequence locked up. The only way to get in was through an open window at the back. Hertha, who could climb like a squirrel, took the lead and dragged the trembling Elly after her; the pug, who was in danger of being strangled by the blue ribbon, was left behind, and barked as if he were mad at his vanishing mistresses. They found themselves in Schumann's room, which was filled with an odour of onions and lamp-oil, for the head-bailiff was a bachelor and catered for himself, leaving unspeakable messes simmering for hours on a petroleum cooking-stove. Elly could scarcely stand for fright, and even Hertha's heart beat perceptibly quicker. Till this moment she had never shrunk timidly from the boldest adventures; but now that the master of Halewitz ruled his possessions again, everything wore a different aspect.