ious interest, too,
though all her words were about frivolity. At length she heaped the fire
with wood, drew the heavy silken curtains close; for I had been anxious
hitherto to keep them open, so that I might see the pale moon mounting
the skies, as I used to see her--the same moon--rise from behind the
Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the sight made me cry, so Amante shut it
out. She dictated to me as a nurse does to a child.

"Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her company," she said,
"while I go and ask Marthon for a cup of coffee." I remember that speech,
and the way it roused me, for I did not like Amante to think I wanted
amusing by a kitten. It might be my petulance, but this speech--such as
she might have made to a child--annoyed me, and I said that I had reason
for my lowness of spirits--meaning that they were not of so imaginary
a nature that I could be diverted from them by the gambols of a kitten.
So, though I did not choose to tell her all, I told her a part; and as
I spoke, I began to suspect that the good creature knew much of what I
withheld, and that the little speech about the kitten was more thoughtfully
kind than it had seemed at first. I said that it was so long since I had
heard from my father; that he was an old man, and so many things might
happen--I might never see him again--and I so seldom heard from him or
my brother. It was a more complete and total separation than I had ever
anticipated when I married, and something of my home and of my life
previous to my marriage I told the good Amante; for I had not been
brought up as a great lady, and the sympathy of any human being was
precious to me.

Amante listened with interest, and in return told me some of the events
and sorrows of her own life. Then, remembering her purpose, she set out
in search of the coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an hour
before; but, in my husband's absence, my wishes were but seldom attended
to, and I never dared to give orders.

Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a great large cake.

"See!" said she, setting it down. "Look at my plunder. Madame must eat.
Those who eat always laugh. And, besides, I have a little news that will
please madame." Then she told me that, lying on a table in the great
kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come by the courier from Strasburg
that very afternoon: then, fresh from her conversation with me, she had
hastily untied the string that bound them, but h