grateful. She often
went down to the hut, and the people would come from the houses near by
and listen to her stories and her strange jokes. She was always in good
spirits on her return.

Annette had once encountered Rautenkron. She attempted to engage him in
conversation, but he rudely turned on his heel; and when she was
telling us of the manhater, my wife made a remark which I shall never
forget:

"This man must have come from a respected and well-to-do family, for
the child of poor parents can never become a misanthrope."

Although Annette kindly cared for the poor and did not permit herself
to be repelled by any rudeness or vulgarity on their part, she was both
severe and void of pity with the faults of those who were in better
circumstances.

Rimminger, who had taken his discharge and had married the only
daughter of the rich owner of the saw-mill, endeavored, as an old
comrade of her deceased husband, to bring about friendly relations
between Annette and his household. She kept him at a distance, however,
and expressed herself quite forcibly on the subject. She maintained
that the young wife always looked like an _ennuied_ duchess, and was
constantly trying to show that she had been educated in Paris.

My wife said that she disapproved of such personalities. Annette looked
at her with surprise and then cast her eyes to the ground.

Our days were full of work, our evenings all leisure; and Annette
called our attention to something that had never occurred to us. She
found it very strange that there were no playing-cards in our house.
She could not conceive how, living in the country, we could have
overlooked this pastime. But we had never felt the want of it.

Annette had a rich, musical voice, and would often read aloud to us.

Joseph and his wife would come and listen, while Martella would spin so
softly that one could not hear her wheel.

Rothfuss would sit on the bench near the stove, and would artfully
prevent us from noticing when he fell asleep. When the reading was
over, he was always wide-awake, and would insist on being permitted to
light the way to Joseph's house for Annette.

In her letters to Richard, my wife described our pleasant genial life;
and yet, for the first time, Richard did not visit us once during the
whole winter. He regretted that he had an extensive work in hand which
could not be laid aside, and believed that he was about to finish a
novel and important contribution to his