"Oh that is beautiful," cried Julius; "and then we can ride out, all three of us. You on Bella, I on the pony, and Czika on Hamet; and then--but no, I am afraid Hamet wont be able to keep up with us!" he interrupts himself, and looks very grave and sober. "Then we will go slowly." "Well, to be sure, we can do that. We will ride very slowly, Czika; I should not like you to have a fall for anything in the world." Thus the boy prattles on; and Melitta is delighted to see that his prattling and his cheerful ways have some effect upon Czika. She thinks of the time when the Brown Countess first came to Berkow, and how she had wished even then, long before she had any suspicion that the girl could be Oldenburg's child, to keep her, and to bring her up with her Julius; and how strangely her wish had now come to be fulfilled. And then her thoughts are wandering into the future, and of the possible time when she may call these children "our children." And when they get to the granite block, and she has placed a wreath of immortelles on it, she takes the two children in her arms and kisses them, and says: "My children, my dear dear children!" Melitta was all day busy with Czika; and if Julius had not been himself so devoted to the pretty little girl he might well have become jealous. Czika even sleeps with his mother, and mamma puts her to bed herself every evening--or, rather, puts her on her couch, for Czika's bed consists as yet only of a few blankets spread on the floor, for she has declared, in her own grave and solemn way: "Czika will die if you put her into a bed." The little one retires very early--generally as soon as it is dark out-doors; so that Oldenburg, who comes over at that time from Cona, does not find her any more in the sitting-room. He has occasionally gone with Melitta and stood by her couch, but he does not do it any more, as the child sleeps very lightly, and the slightest noise wakes her up. He is content now to hear from Melitta that "their daughter" is doing well, that she has been out walking or riding with "their children," and that "their Czika" has called her "mother" to-day, for the first time. "I fear I shall never hear her call me father," says Oldenburg, sadly. "We must be patient, Adalbert," replies Melitta.