The queen was ill. Her life was saved, but a hope was lost.

It was on a stormy morning in spring, that Baum, caring a little coffin that contained the corpse of a still-born babe, descended the back stairs of the palace. He walked so softly that he did not hear his own footsteps. He was followed by Madame Leoni, the queen's waiting-woman, who held a white handkerchief to her eyes. At the foot of the stairs, a carriage was in waiting. Baum was obliged to tell the coachman, who was not in court livery, where to drive to. Scarcely any one in the palace knew of what was going on.

They drove out of town and toward the church-yard. An unnamed child is not placed in the vault, but is buried in the public cemetery. The grave-digger was waiting for them. The little corpse was lowered into the open grave, without a name or sign to mark its place of burial. About the same time that Baum and Madame Leoni were out at the churchyard, Walpurga was thus writing home:

".... Thank God! all's over. Now I can look forward to happier days. We've had a terrible time here. If all goes well, there are only seven Sundays more till I come home again. I can hardly believe it possible that I've got to go away from here again, and yet I'll thank God a thousand times, when I'm with you once more. If I stay here, I shall grow quite stupid from thinking so much. There's misery everywhere and people take pleasure in each other's wickedness, and, even if it isn't true, they imagine it is and find pleasure in it, besides.

"There was some talk about our getting a place here, where we could all be comfortable for life; but the queen said that it would be better for me to go home, and whatever she says, is right. She's a true queen, just as a queen ought to be. God has made her so, on purpose.

"I'd only like to know why she has to suffer so much.

"Oh, what a time we've had. Every minute, we thought the queen-- There's not another soul like her in the world, and she had so much to bear, and we're all human after all. But now, thank God, all's over. The king's doctor says the danger's over. But, of course, what we hoped for, is gone. I can't tell you how it made me feel, to think that I was so well, and I felt as if I must go to the queen and give up every drop of my blood to save her.

"Whenever I had a chance, I went down to the church--they have their church in the house here--and prayed for the queen. My countess has never once come to me. They say she looks like a shadow. All the passages here are heated and the whole house is just like one warm room, and the people in the palace would pass each other, without taking notice of any one.

"On the evening that the queen thought she was going to die, she sent for me and the child. She didn't say much, but her eyes told it all.

"And now, Hansei, keep yourself ready; you must come for me. Next time I write, I'll tell you the very day when you're to come.

"I feel as if I couldn't wait; and yet it makes my heart ache to think that I must leave my prince, for he loves me so. But I can't help it. I've got a child, a husband and a mother of my own, at home, and am tired of being in service and among strangers.

"Does the storm rage so terribly with you? Oh, how the wind blows. If it would only bear me home. Last night it blew down a tree in front of my window. It was a fine, large tree, and fell on a figure which it broke to pieces. Every one said it was very beautiful, but I couldn't see any beauty in such a thing. It seemed ever so impudent as it stood there, and was enough to make one blush. I could see the tree and the figure from my window, and people are already there, putting things to rights, and carrying all that's damaged out of the way.

"They're very quick about such things here, whether it be a tree, a marble figure, or a dead child.

"Forgive me for writing such a mixed-up letter. When I get home again, I can never tell you all that I've gone through here, if I live to be a hundred years old.

"And when you come, dear Hansei, just put on the clothes that the king sent, and one of the fine shirts that I made for you when we were married. They're in the blue closet on the upper shelf on the left-hand side with the red ribbon. Forgive me for writing all this to you, but you've had to take care of yourself almost a year, and I haven't been able to help you, or get your things for you. Now that will all come right again. I feel as if I were at home already, pulling your shirt-collar straight, as we go to church of a Sunday morning. I feel as if it was some one else who had gone through all this, and as if the days were a high mountain that one can never cross. But all will be right again, and we'll be merry and happy together, for, thank God, we've sound limbs, and true hearts. Forgive me, all of you, if I've ever said a single word to offend you.

"If I had you here, dear Hansei, I'd put my arms round your neck and kiss you to my heart's content. You and the child and mother are all the world to me. I'm just beginning to feel how much I love you all, and I can't understand how I could stay away from you so long, without dying of grief and homesickness.

"Don't forget to bring a large chest with you, for they've given me ever so many things.

"And bring me something out of our garden; one of my pinks, and also one of the child's shoes. But I'll tell you more plainly about this, in my next letter.

"I can't fall into the ways of the court folk. I'm told that they can't touch or dress their own dead. They have it all done by strangers, who are paid for it.

"I've been spinning flax this winter, for shirts for my prince. They were all pleased with it, and came to my room to look on and seemed as much astonished as if it were something wonderful.

"I like to think of working in the fields again, it makes one much healthier. But don't worry, for nothing ails me except that I am terribly homesick.

"And now farewell; a thousand times farewell!

"Your Walpurga Andermatten."

While Walpurga, with slow and heavy hand, toiled at her letter, Countess Irma sat at her desk, in the room below, and dashed off the following lines:

"My dearest Emma: What a night I've passed--I must be endowed with herculean strength, or I should not have lived through it. I have looked into the fiery eyes of the glaring monsters who dwell above and below our daily life and who suddenly, and without warning, burst upon us. You must suffer me to return to you,--to write to you once more. I don't know how long it is since I've done so. You are my fortress, my rock, my shelter. You are firm, immovable, steadfast, patient. When in distress, I come to you. I flee to you.

"It was a terrible night. The tree still stands, but a young blossom was broken off. I came from the queen's apartment; I could not pray, but stood by the window, and thought while I looked out into the night: Thou who renewest everything, who awakenest the earth from its wintry sleep, breathing new life into trees and flowers and all that faded and withered last year--suffer a human heart to renew itself; let past deeds be destroyed and forgotten. Suffer a child of man, regenerate and redeemed, to begin life anew. I stood at the casement, while the wind howled without. Suddenly there was a fearful crash. A tall oak before my window had been broken by the angry wind. The tree toppled and, in its fall, dashed a statue of Venus, which stood beneath it, into fragments. It all seemed like a feverish dream, and when I realized what had happened, my only wish was: Oh that I had been in the statue's place! Oh that I had been dashed to atoms--It would have been far better for me.

"I hardly know what to tell you. I only know that I may again be with you--perhaps to-day, to-morrow, at night or in the daytime, I shall fall on my knees to you and you will lift me up. I shall rest on your heart, and you will protect me. You will save me from the demons; you will not question me; you will give food and drink and rest to the stranger soul, and will not ask whence it comes.

"What are we? What is the world? We see and know all, and yet--

"How ingenious the devices with which the world lulls its conscience into slumber--If there were only no awakening! The awakening--the morrow--that is the most terrible thought of all.

"An eternal kiss rests upon a statue at the arsenal, and the stars, the moon and the sun look down upon it. If I could but climb up there, hurl myself to the earth and destroy myself--the world--everything!

"Should you hear the bells tolling loudly, know that it is my funeral. If there be a gentle knock at your door, think that it is a poor soul that was once so rich--might still be--aye, is. Who can restore a human being to himself? Who draws him out of the lake--out of the lake--

"Why is it that the lake is constantly before my eyes? I see myself in it--I sink! Help me! Save me, Emma! Help me, I sink--!"

Irma suddenly uttered a loud shriek. The maid hurried into the room. Her mistress had fainted and lay on the floor. When she revived, she asked what had happened to her. Doctor Gunther sat at her bedside and said:

"You've been writing; here is the letter. I took charge of it, as I supposed it was this that had so excited you. I read the first six lines. I was obliged to, but I assure you, on my honor, that I did not read a word more. I took charge of the letter, so that no other eye should see it. And now, keep yourself quiet; here it is."

Irma sat up and read the letter. Then she looked at the Doctor earnestly, and said:

"I believe you." She called for a light and consigned the letter to the flames.

"Will you promise me one thing?"

"What is it?"

"That you will give me poison, if I lose my mind."

"You are playing with extremes," replied the physician, "and that can't be done with impunity."

After a long pause, Gunther said:

"Above all things, you must control yourself, and must not imagine that these wild, wandering thoughts are your true self. I thought that you would take my advice, but I was mistaken. You are your best, your only, physician; force yourself to rest and let calm and happy thoughts alone engage you."

Irma rested her head on her hand. Her eyes glowed with feverish fire. She closed them, but suddenly arose and, seizing her loosened hair with both hands, exclaimed: "I will have my hair cut off."

"That is another of your wild thoughts," said Gunther, calming her and taking her hand in his. "You always wish to accomplish your desires by violent methods. You must acquire repose."

"Yes, life is a slow and gradual growth, and death, yes, death in life, takes but a moment," said Irma, with a wild and vacant stare.

"And now go to sleep, and you will soon be well again," said Gunther. He was about to leave, but Irma detained him, and inquired.

"How is your wife--your family?"

"Thank you," said he. "They are calm and resigned."

Irma was about to beg that Gunther's wife might visit her, but could not force herself to do so. Gunther left. He, himself, thought that if Irma would frankly open her mind to his wife, the good sense of the latter would gradually help the distracted one. But he knew that his wife would not visit Irma. With all her kindness of heart, she had no mercy for arrogance, and Irma, in her prosperous days, had neglected to revisit the house in which she had received so hearty a welcome. Ever since Irma had again left her father and returned to court, its doors were closed to her. Irma, moreover, was regarded as having promoted the revival of the convents and the appointment of the reactionary ecclesiastical ministry of which Schnabelsdorf was premier.