"I require money; I do not yet know how much. I will first learn the result of my business. You are a cunning mediatrix, little Beate, but neither your paws nor your claws have power over me; but if anything be in the air warn her not to venture upon too much, else she may have a narrow escape." Below Kätchen was whistling upon the key of the gate. She soon conducted Beate, who had drawn the hood over her head, through the garden walks. The wild cat left the lion's den. CHAPTER III. THE MISTRESS OF THE BOARDING SCHOOL. Da. Reising's credit had done its duty, as was shown by the shining brass plate, upon which the skilful town engraver had etched the words, "Lori Baute's Boarding School," in large, legible characters. There she sat, a small sovereign of a small state. The first object of her ambition was attained. Indignant as she was at the noise which the classes sometimes made, to her there was even a melodious echo in the tumult. All these noisy beings are your pupils, entrusted to you, given up to your authority, and this turbulence only proves how your school flourishes. She had adopted a short, decided, dictatorial manner, and practised it before the mirror; she had also pondered over a necessary alteration in her dress, and arrived at the conclusion that her present position required a certain sacrifice, the sacrifice of youth. Fräulein Sohle, her predecessor, had none to make in that respect, she was totally different from her pupils, with the advantage of her maturer years, and with unartificial dignity, such as is united without effort to creases, wrinkles, and a figure which only appears as the physical residuum of an intellectually extinguished spirit. But Lori was still young; her looking glass told her that she might compete in charms with the youngest teachers, yes, she even looked younger than she was. School, and that life to which she might still lay claim, were opposed to one another, but she must make some concession. She made up her mind to it, and decided upon the loss of those curls, which the profane world designated "love-locks." It was not easy for her to relinquish the glossy, youthful head-gear, but the gloomy framework of snake-like curls imparted an otherwise unattainable dignity to her features. To be sure her eyes flashed out all the more boldly, and her tiny person could not possibly transform itself into a Juno. Nevertheless she knew how to inspire respect; wherever she appeared, all noise was stilled, her omniscience was feared, because she knew how to find out by inquisition and torture everything that happened in any portion of her dominions. The governesses were afraid of her and her spies; they felt that every step was watched, without knowing in what tangible form those dark powers dogged their heels.