ily. At last it came to
this--that when, one day, having obtained Teresa's permission to go
somewhere, she suddenly came face to face in the street with Matilda,
who was riding in an open carriage, she fled terror-stricken into the
court-yard of the house where dwelt a lady of her acquaintance, in order
that her sister might not see her.

Teresa heard of this, and ever afterwards treated Fanny much more
tenderly.

One day, while sitting at her work, the girl sighed heavily. Teresa knew
at once that she was thinking of her relatives.

"Why do you sigh?" she asked.

"Poor Matilda!" said the girl; and she spoke with quite genuine emotion,
for she really did pity her sister who rode in a carriage and wore
Brabant lace, while she herself was so happy at home over her sewing.

Teresa made no reply, but, full of emotion, she clasped the child to her
breast. God had at last rewarded her for all the labours and anxieties
of the last three years, for Fanny was now saved, and doubtless reserved
for a happier future.

And, indeed, poverty in itself is not such a very great calamity, after
all. Those who have a close acquaintance with it will tell you that it
possesses joys of its own which are not to be bought with heaps of gold
pieces. Besides, Teresa was not absolutely destitute. She received five
hundred florins a year from an insurance office for life, with one half
of which she not only supported the pair of them comfortably, but even
left a margin for a little recreation. The other half she carefully put
by, that Fanny might have something when she herself was gone. And the
girl made a little money as well; she earned something by her
needlework. Oh, ye men and women who swim in luxury, you do not know
what delight, what rapture it is when a young man or woman receives the
reward of his honest labour for the first time; you know nothing of the
proud consciousness of being self-sufficient, of being able to live
without the compassion, without the assistance, of other people!

And Fanny's work was very well paid, too!

In the house where they lived there was an Hungarian cabinet-maker, who
owned several houses in Pressburg, John Boltay by name. This rich
artisan, long, long ago, when he had only just served his
apprenticeship, was tenderly disposed towards Teresa, and offered her
his hand. But Teresa's relatives would not give him the girl, although
she loved him; their family belonged to the official class, and looked