scornfully curled her
lips.

"For all I care!" she said, shrugging her shoulders. "What difference
does it make to me who your sweetheart is? Go up the stairs there and
knock at No. 17. You will find what you are looking for."

"Zenz," he answered, with a troubled look, "you are very much mistaken
if you think--But tell me, first of all, how you have been, and whether
you like the life out here better than in the city, and whether I can
help you in any way?"

He felt the necessity of showing his friendliness in some way or other
to this good creature, whose devotion he had so coldly repulsed, that
he might efface the painful remembrance from her mind. She seemed to
feel this, and to be grateful for it. A soft blush--no longer of
embarrassment, but of joy--mounted to her cheeks.

"How do I like it here?" she said, laughing. "Oh, pretty well so far.
The people of the house treat me very well, and if I do my duty, what
do I care for any one else? Only it's just a little dull and lonely
here."

"I imagine there is no lack of people, Zenz, who would be glad to help
you while away the time if you would only let them."

She did not answer at once, but listened in the direction of the
stairs, where some one had just crept up and had stopped half-way as if
to listen. There was a pause in the music, and any one standing on the
dark stairway could not have helped hearing every word that was spoken
on the landing above. The girl's face assumed a slighting, contemptuous
expression. She seemed to know who was standing there on the watch, and
purposely raised her voice so as to give the listener the full benefit
of what she said.

"Have you, too, heard that gossip?" she said. "Well, if any one ever
says to you again that Zenz has got a lover here, give him my best
regards and tell him he is a mean liar. I know very well that the
waiter-girl in Leoni says all sorts of bad things about me because
Hiesl, the fisherman, who used to keep company with her, tries to pay
court to me. But, though I am only a poor girl, I am a hundred times
too good for such a wild fellow as he is, going about on every holiday
picking quarrels, and spending all his money on drinking and bowling.
Just think of it, that little Spanish knife I took from your table that
time by mistake--or rather not by mistake--I really believe, may God
forgive me, I would have liked best to kill myself, I felt so wild and
unhappy that night!--well, I have carried it abou