‘What a complication!’ she thought. ‘But I am not hopeless. Does she imagine I did not see how she blushed when she informed me that “Rudolf” would approve?’ Such an odd sound issued at this moment from the lips of the countess that her old man-servant, saluting, advanced a step and said: ‘_Zu Befehl, gnädige Frau._’ ‘It’s nothing, Fritz. I was only laughing at something I was thinking of.’ Frau von Trockenau was the only one of her former friends whom Sara saw in this manner. Of course, in so small a place as Lahnburg, it was soon known that Herr Falkenberg was married, and that his wife was living at present at the old schloss. No doubt there was speculation on the subject, but, if so, it never reached Sara’s ears. She never entered the town, but, as she grew stronger, would take rambles alone, or with Ellen, along the high upland roads which branched off in all directions, at a short distance beyond _Mein Genügen_, and which led by all manner of ways into the interior, across the moors, or through woods and thickets, or between hedges, or straight and poplar-planted, beside the river. On such excursions they seldom met any but country people and peasants; rough but civil folk, who were not curious, but who always exchanged greetings–giving her a nod and a ‘_Grüss’ Euch Gott, gnädige Frau_,’ and receiving in exchange a ‘_Guten Tag, ich danke_,’ from her. As for Ellen Nelson, her mental attitude was one of some uncertainty. There was a mingling of satisfaction and dissatisfaction. She rejoiced in the changed position of her mistress, in the luxury and lavish plenty of all their surroundings; she considered that now her beloved child had just what she was entitled to and no more, but she mourned over the incompleteness of a fate which, in the midst of all this outward prosperity, withheld the inward peace which alone could make it enjoyable. Why could not her mistress be herself again? She liked Avice Wellfield well, but she misliked the letters which so frequently came from her; the long, thick letters which Sara read with such avidity, and which had the effect of giving brightness to her eye, a flush to her cheek, new animation to her whole aspect for many hours after she had received them. Often, after such a letter had come, Ellen would see her lady’s lips move as they walked together–would see her eyes suddenly flash, or her cheek flush, and all this she misliked; nor did she take any more delight in seeing the letters which Sara always made her post with her own hand, directed to Miss Wellfield. Ellen wished that any distraction might come, in the shape of society, friends, anything, to divert her mistress’s thoughts from that topic. ‘She’ll never come to think as she ought of Herr Falkenberg,’ the old servant decided within herself, ‘while she can sit here alone and brood over the past, and have long letters from Miss Wellfield. If she would only take to her painting again, or anything.’