t her little head from between the
bed-curtains, and called cheerily, "Good morning, dear Ludwig!" there
was no one there.

Ludwig never slept more than four hours of the twenty-four, and his
slumber was so light that he woke at the slightest noise. Then, too, he
slept like a soldier in the field--always clothed, with his weapons
beside him.

CHAPTER II

One day in the year formed an exception to all the rest. It was Marie's
birthday. From her earliest childhood this one day had been entirely her
own. On this day she addressed Ludwig with the familiar "thou," as she
had been wont to do when he had taught her to walk. She always looked
forward with great pleasure to this day, and made for it all sorts of
plans whose accomplishment was extremely problematic.

And who came to congratulate her on her birthday? First of all, the
solitary sparrow, whose name was David--surely because he, too, was a
tireless singer! Already at early dawn, when the first faint rosy hues
of morning glimmered through the jalousie, he would fly to the head of
her bed. Then the cats would come with their gratulations, but not until
their little mistress had leaped from the bed, run to the window, flung
open the sash, and called, "Puss, puss!" Then the whole four would
scamper into the room, one after the other, and wish her many happy
returns of the day.

When the pugs had gone through their part of the program, the little
maid proceeded to attire herself, a task she performed behind a tall
folding screen. When she stepped forth again, she had on a gorgeous
Chinese-silk wrapper, covered all over with gay-colored palms, and
confined only at the waist with a heavy silk cord. Her hair was twisted
into a single knot on the crown of her head.

Then she prepared breakfast for herself and her guests. The eight of
them drank cold milk, and ate of the dainty little cakes which some one
placed on her table every night while she slept. To-day Marie did not
amuse herself with her guests, but turned over the leaves of her
picture-book, thus passing the time until she should hear, after the
bell had rung twice, the tap at her door.

"Come in!"

The man who entered was surprised.

"What? We are not yet ready for the drive?" he exclaimed.

The maid threw her book aside, ran toward him, and flung her arms with
childish abandon around his neck.

"We are not going to drive to-day. Dost thou not know that this is my
birthday--that I alone give o