On the Heights: A Novel. Auerbach Berthold

me?"

      "Yes, indeed; I understand German," replied Walpurga. "But Your Majesty shouldn't speak so much. God willing, we'll be together in happiness for many days to come. We'll arrange everything when we can look into each other's eyes in broad daylight, and I'll do all I can to please you and the child. I've got over my homesickness and now I must do my duty. I'll be a good nurse to your child; don't let that worry you. And now, good-night! Sleep well, and let nothing trouble you. And now let me see our child."

      "Breath of my breath, it lies here, sleeping by my side. How infinite is God's grace, how marvelous are his works!"

      Walpurga felt that some one was pulling at her dress, and hastily said:

      "Good-night, dear queen. Put all idle thoughts away from you. This is no time to busy yourself thinking. We'll have enough to think of when the time comes. Good-night!"

      "No, remain here! You must stay!" begged the queen.

      "I must beg Your Majesty-" hurriedly interposed Doctor Gunther.

      "Do leave her with me a little while," begged the queen, in childlike tones. "I am sure it will do me no harm to talk with her. When she drew near the bed, and I heard her voice, I felt as if a breath of Alpine air, in all its dewy freshness, was being wafted toward me. Even now I feel as if lying on a high mountain, from which I can look down into the beautiful world."

      "Your Majesty, such excitement may prove quite injurious."

      "Very well; I will be calm. But do leave her with me a moment longer! Let me have more light, so that I may see her."

      The screen was removed from a lamp that stood on a side-table, and the two mothers beheld each other, face to face.

      "How beautiful you are!" exclaimed the queen.

      "That doesn't matter any longer," replied Walpurga. "God be praised, we've both got over having our heads turned by such nonsense. You're a wife and mother, and so am I."

      The screen fell again; the queen, taking Walpurga's hand in hers, said in a gentle voice:

      "Bend down to me, I want to kiss you-I must kiss you."

      Walpurga did as she was bid, and the queen kissed her.

      "You can go now. Keep yourself good and true," said the queen.

      A tear of Walpurga's fell upon the face of the queen, who added:

      "Don't weep! You, too, are a mother."

      Unable to utter another word, Walpurga turned to go, and the queen called after her.

      "What is your name?"

      "Walpurga," said Doctor Gunther, answering for her.

      "And can you sing well?" asked the queen.

      "They say so," replied Walpurga.

      "Then sing often to my child, or 'our child,' as you call him. Good-night!"

      Doctor Gunther remained with the queen. It was some time before he uttered a word. He felt that he must calm her excited feelings, and he had a safe and simple remedy at command.

      "I must request Your Majesty," said he, "to return my congratulations. My daughter Cornelia, the wife of Professor Korn of the university, was safely delivered of a little girl, at the very hour in which the crown prince was born."

      "I congratulate the child on having such a grandfather. You shall, also, be the grandfather of our son."

      "The congratulation that imposes a noble duty upon its recipient, is the best that can be given," replied Gunther. "I thank you. But we must now cease talking. Permit me to bid Your Majesty good-night!"

      Gunther left the room. All was silent.

      Instead of taking Walpurga back to the upper rooms, they had conducted her to a well-furnished apartment on the other side of the palace, where, to her great delight, she found Mademoiselle Kramer awaiting her.

      "The queen kissed me!" exclaimed she. "Oh, what an angel she is! I'd no idea there were such creatures in the world."

      Some time later, when the queen had fallen asleep, two women brought a gilded cradle into Walpurga's room.

      When they took the child from the bed, the queen, as if conscious of what was being done, moved in her sleep.

      Before taking the child to her bosom, Walpurga breathed upon it thrice. It opened its eyes and looked at her, and then quickly closed them again.

      Throughout the palace, all was soon hushed in silence. Walpurga and the child by her side were asleep. Mademoiselle Kramer sat up during the night, and, in the antechamber on either side, there were doctors and servants within call.

      CHAPTER XI

      In the village by the lake, or, to speak more correctly, in the few houses clustered near the Chamois inn, Walpurga's strange and sudden departure caused great commotion.

      All hurried toward the inn. The innkeeper assumed a wise air and desired it to be understood that he knew far more than people gave him credit for. The whole affair was, of course, of his planning; for had it not been proven that his acquaintance included even the king himself.

      Immediately after Walpurga's departure, he urged Hansei to accompany him to the Chamois, for he well knew that his presence there would prove a far greater attraction than a band of musicians.

      Hansei would not go at once, but promised to follow soon afterward. He could not leave home just then.

      He went through the whole house, from cellar to garret. Then he went out into the stable, where, for a long while, he watched the cow feeding. "Such a beast has a good time of it, after all," thought he; "others have to provide for it, and wherever it finds a full crib, it is at home."

      He went into the room and, silently nodding to the grandmother, cast a hurried glance at the slumbering child. He seated himself near the table and, resting his elbows thereon, buried his face in his hands.

      "It still goes," said he, looking up at the Black Forest clock that was ticking on the wall. "She wound it up before she left."

      He went out and sat down on the bench under the cherry-tree. The starlings overhead were quite merry, and from the woods a cuckoo called: "Yes, he goes away, too, and leaves his children to be brought up by strangers."

      Hansei laughed to himself, and looked about him. Had the wife really gone? She must still be sitting there! How could those who belong together be thus parted?

      He kept staring at the seat next to him, – but she was not there.

      Half the village had gathered before the garden gate. Young and old, big and little, stood there, gazing at him.

      Wastl (Sebastian), the weaver, who had for many years been a comrade of Hansei's, and had worked with him in the forest, called out:

      "God greet you, Hansei! Your bread has fallen with the buttered side up."

      Hansei muttered sullen thanks. Suddenly, there was a great peal of laughter. No one knew who had been the first to utter the word "he-nurse." It had been rapidly and quietly passed from one to another through the crowd, until it at last reached Thomas, Zenza's son-a bold, rawboned fellow, whose open shirt revealed a brawny chest.

      "Walpurga's the crown prince's she-nurse, and Hansei's the he-nurse."

      Wastl opened the gate and entered the garden, the whole crowd following at his heels. They went through garden, house and stable; peeped through the windows, smelled at the violets on the window-shelf, and sat down on the kindling-wood that lay under the shed. The house seemed to have become the property of the whole village. When joy or sorrow enters a home, all doors are open, and the rooms and passages become as a public highway.

      "What do they all want?" inquired Hansei of Wastl, who had sat down beside him on the bench.

      "Nothing! All they've come for is to see for themselves that the whole thing's true, so they can tell others about it. But they're all pleased with your good luck."

      "My good luck! Well, I suppose it had to be," said Hansei, in a tone scarcely suggestive of happiness. "Wastl, it seems