brood. It flies away it flies away. Play on, fiddlers. Let us
have the cuckoo's song. Keep quiet, all of you; I will dance for you."

And then she began to dance, raising herself and bending towards the
ground again as if she really had wings; and all were delighted.

When she stopped all cried out, "Again! again!" and the Alsatian
exclaimed, "_Da-capo!_"

Ikwarte arose and said, "Miss, do not let them abuse your good-nature;
do not let them make a fool of you. There is enough of it."

"This is not your affair," exclaimed Carl, "you Prussian!--you
starveling!"

"I have nothing to say to you," answered Ikwarte; "you are not worth
answering."

Martella danced again, to the great delight of all.

But while she was dancing, one could see that it took several of the
lads to hold Carl.

When the dance was over, Carl rushed up to Ikwarte, and cried:

"You cursed Prussian! why do you think that I am not worthy of being
answered?"

"I have no respect for a man who would put himself in the way of being
captured."

"Is that it?"

"Carl, take none of the Prussian's impudence," called out Martella. "It
is the Prussians' fault that my Ernst had to go forth into misery. Pay
him up for it!"

And then followed terrible scuffling and fighting.

Ikwarte seemed, at first, unable to realize that he was actually
involved in a fight; but when he saw that matters were in earnest, he
seized Carl, and held him as firmly as in a vise. Rothfuss urged them
on, for fighting was his delight. They were at last separated, and then
Martella threw herself on the ground, tore her hair, and cried out, "It
is all my fault! It is my fault! I am ruined!"

Rothfuss succeeded in leading her away. She tried to escape from him
and to run out into the woods, saying, "Anything rather than go back
home, for I don't deserve to go there."

He succeeded, at last, in inducing her to enter the house of Carl's
mother. Accompanied by Annette and Conny, I went there to bring her
home, and was startled when I saw what a change had come over the poor
child. Nevertheless, her agitation had not disfigured her; she seemed
more lovely than ever--almost supernaturally beautiful.

"O father!" she cried. "Indeed, I have no longer the right to use those
words. I knew it; I felt a presentiment of it all, and I wanted to go
away. Why didn't you let me go? I don't belong here, and now less than
ever. The worst that could have happened to me has happened. I have
re