ago. The change that she had devoutly
wished for had been brought about with surprising rapidity. Martella
had awakened to a sense of the duties life imposes on all of us.

Nothing can be more gratifying than to find that a just course of
action has produced its logical results.

Thus all was well. Ernst went out hunting with Rautenkron, and once
even prevailed on him to visit our house.

Rautenkron had but little to say to Martella. He would knit his heavy
eyebrows, and cast searching side-glances on the child. This was his
custom with all strangers. When taking leave of my wife, he inquired
whether we knew anything of Martella's parentage. All that we knew was
that she had been found in the forest when four years old. Jaegerlies
had cared for her until Ernst brought her to our house. Martella had
told more than that to Richard, but he had firmly refused to tell us
what it was. When Rautenkron had left, Martella said:

"He looks like a hedgehog, and I really believe that he could eat
mice."

In the last letter that I received before returning to my home, my wife
wrote me that Martella had displayed a very singular trait.

Rothfuss had become sick, and Martella, who was as much attached to him
as if she were his own child, could neither visit nor nurse him. She
had an unconquerable aversion to sick people. She would stand by the
door and talk to Rothfuss, but she would not enter his room. She was
quite angry at herself because of this, but could not act differently.

"I cannot help it--I cannot help it," she said. "I cannot go near a
sick person." He begged her to procure some wine for him; some of the
red wine down in the glass house. He knew that would make him well
again. Rothfuss found as much pleasure in deceiving the doctor as he
usually did in outwitting the officers.

Martella cheerfully entered into his plan; she got the wine for him,
and from that day he gradually improved in health.

It was quite refreshing to me to have my thoughts recalled to our life
at home. While the most difficult political questions and a struggle
against a system of police espionage were engaging us, a concordat with
the Pope had been submitted for our approval. It was the result of deep
and long-protracted intrigues, and was full of carefully veiled and
delicately woven fetters. I had been appointed as one of the committee
to whom the matter was referred, and after a heated debate, we
succeeded in securing its abrogation. T