"You will be with me in spirit, I am sure," replied Annette. She extended her hand to my wife, saying, "I can assure you of this: I will so conduct myself, that you could at any moment say to me, 'This is right.'--I have been wild and wayward; I am so no longer; hereafter, I will be strong and gentle." The carriage drove up and we accompanied Annette down the hill as far as the saw-mill. There was a rainbow over our heads; it reached from our mountains to the Vosges. Annette held a handkerchief to her eyes. My wife and Bertha were walking on either side of her. The only time I heard her speak was when she said to Bertha: "Your husband has lost his best comrade. The Major will live; there shall yet be some happy ones on earth. I shall write you from the camp." Rothfuss was ploughing the potato field. He was walking with his back towards us. Annette called to him. He came out into the road and inquired what was the matter. "My husband is dead. I am going to bring him and lay him in the earth which you are now ploughing," said Annette in a firm voice. Rothfuss extended his hand to her. He seemed unable to utter a word, and was excitedly swinging his cap about with his left hand. At last, in a loud voice, and stopping after every word, he exclaimed: "I would--rather--not--be--King--or Emperor--than have--that--rest--on me." He returned to the field and continued his work. When we reached the valley, Annette said, "I shall not say 'good by;' I shall need all my strength for the other sad affair." She quickly stepped into the carriage; her brother, Rontheim, and the daughter of the latter following her. The carriage rolled away. On our way back to the house, my wife was several times obliged to sit down by the roadside. The sad events of this day had deeply affected her. We were seated under an apple-tree, when my wife, taking me by the hand, said, "Yes, Henry, how full of blossoms that tree once was; but May-bugs and caterpillars and frost and hail have destroyed it. And thus it is with him, too." She was not as demonstrative as I was; she could bear her sorrow silently; but the thought of Ernst did not leave her for a moment. When we got back to the house she fell asleep in the armchair, and did not awaken until sunset, when Richard, whom we had not seen all day, returned. He admitted that he had heard of Annette's bereavement, but had kept out in the woods to be out of the way, as he thought there were enough sympathizers without him, and that he could not have been of any service. My wife looked at him with surprise. Richard told us that during the rain-storm, which had been quite heavy in the woods, he had been with Rautenkron.