ame is Peter; but, as he was so long in Servia, they will
call him here Petrowitsch."

"Go on, and tell me about the avenue of cherry trees."

"Petrowitsch was in the habit of walking about with a knife in his
hand, and pruning the superfluous branches off the trees; and one day
the farm servant informed against him for destroying the trees. So he
caused a whole avenue of new cherry trees to be planted at his own
expense, and for the last six years he has pulled the unripe fruit,
that the trees might not be injured by thieves, and they have made a
fine growth; but he feels no interest in any man. See! there goes
Lenz--his only brother's son, and he has never got from him as much as
would go on the point of a needle."

"So that is Lenz? A good looking youth--an agreeable countenance--just
what I had imagined him to be."

"Oh yes!--he is a very worthy young man, only rather too soft hearted.
When he is passing along there, I know that two eyes from a new house
are watching him, and would fain allure him in; and those eyes are
Bertha's."

"So they understand each other, do they?" said the Techniker, his white
forehead colouring to the roots of his hair.

"No; I never said anything of the kind. I dare say she would be very
glad to marry him, for he has a nice property, and she has nothing but
some fine Leghorn hats, and stockings in holes."

The landlord's daughter, or Lion-Annele, as she was called, inwardly
rejoiced. "So! I have put salt enough in his soup!" And this pleasant
thought restored her good humour.

The Techniker said that he was going out to take another walk.

"Where are you going?"

"Up yonder, towards the Spannreute."

"It is a very fine view from there, but as steep as the side of a
house."

The Techniker went away, and Annele ran down into the garden behind the
house and looked after him. He did, indeed, ascend the hill for a
while, but he soon turned and went rapidly down the valley towards the
Doctor's house.

"Go to the devil!" said Annele, in a rage. "From me you shall never
more receive one civil word!"

CHAPTER VIII.
HAPPINESS DAWNS, AND A NEW MOTHER SPEAKS.

"He is not at home," cried out Don Bastian's wife to Lenz, as he was
crossing the meadow; "probably he is gone to your house. Did you not
meet him?"

"No. Is his room locked?"

"No."

"Then I will sit down there for a little."

Lenz went into the familiar room. But a