d's greeting, and held out his hand. When the young man, after
making a long preface to excuse himself and conciliate his master,
mentioned the wife of a privy-counsellor, whose maiden name was
Fernich, the old man started up suddenly from his desk as if struck by
lightning, with a frightful cry.

"Fernich! Elizabeth!" he then exclaimed, with fearful vehemence; "she,
she here? in my house! O God, O heaven, quickly, quickly let her come
in! O do make haste, my dear friend;" he cried out again, and his
voice failed him.

Edward was almost terrified, and went back to bring the stranger to
Balthasar. In the mean time she had been joined by the young lady of
the house, an adopted child, but whom the old man loved with the same
tenderness and treated just as if she had been his own. The stranger
trembled, and when she reacht the old man's apartment was near
fainting: Balthasar dried his tears, and was unable to find words, as
he led the pale lady to a chair: he made a sign, and Edward left the
room, in great anxiety about his old friend, whom he had never seen so
strongly moved, and with whom owing to this singular scene he stood on
an entirely new footing.

"It was very good of you, Rose," he said to the young blooming girl,
"to entertain the stranger lady while she was waiting."

"It was all to very little purpose," answered she, blushing: "for she
was so faint and exhausted that, whatever I could say, she did nothing
but weep. She must surely be sick, or have some heavy load on her
heart. It has made me quite sorrowful, and I too have been crying.
These eyes in our head are certainly very funny creatures, just like
little children. They run about, and stare, and gaze at every thing
new, shining and twinkling with joy; and then they grow so serious and
sad, and when the pain at one's heart is very sore, they bubble with
tears and overflow, and anon they become bright and glad again. There
must be a vast number of sorrows in the world, my dear Edward."

"May heaven preserve you from any very melancholy trials!" replied he:
"hitherto your young life has glided along as peacefully as a swan
over a silent pool."

"You fancy," cried she laughing, "that such a thing as I cannot have
had any sorrows of its own, much less very bitter and painful ones.
You are mightily mistaken."

"Well?" asked Edward earnestly.

"One can't remember all in a moment what one's sorrows are," said the
good-natured girl: "wait a little. When I