nurse had been saying. The prince nodded to Walpurga much as
he would have done with a dumb animal to which he could not render
himself intelligible.

"But Countess Irma's feet are not swan's feet. Don't believe that,
Walpurga," said the king laughing. "Come, 'Lady of the Lake.'"

They mounted their horses and rode away.

It was time for the prince to return.

On their return, they at once repaired to the new apartments on the
ground floor, into which everything had been removed during their
absence.

They now had sunlight at all hours of the day. The apartments opened
out on the park, where the blackbird sang in the broad daylight, and
where the breezes were laden with the odor of the orange bushes. Tall
trees were whispering in the wind and a great fountain was constantly
murmuring and plashing.

Walpurga was quite happy, and the fountain was her greatest delight.

"It's far more comfortable on the first floor," she would often say; "I
feel as if I'd just returned from a long journey. The rooms are so
nice and cool, and my night-watchman sleeps in the daytime just as a
night-watchman should, and--and--"

And Walpurga, too, fell asleep, although 'twas daylight.

CHAPTER II.

Walpurga soon accustomed herself to her changed mode of life. She was
often concerned because she received no tidings from home.

But if there were no letters, there was a messenger at all events. A
servant entered the room and said:

"There's a woman outside, who comes from the same place as Walpurga.
She wishes to speak to you for a few moments."

"I'll go to her. Who is it?"

"No," said Mademoiselle Kramer; "receive her here."

The servant went out at once, and returned, bringing old Zenza with
him.

"Oh, is it you, Zenza? Have you brought me anything from my child, my
husband, or my mother? For God's sake, has anything happened? Are they
sick?"

"No, they're all well, thank God, and send their love to you."

Walpurga, with an affectionate glance, gazed into Zenza's cunning eyes,
which now seemed good and truthful, because they had seen her child.
Smiling, Zenza went on to say:

"I'm glad you still know me. How bad the folks are. They told me you
wouldn't recognize me, because you'd become a fine lady. But no, you
always were a good girl, and I've always said so."

"Yes, yes, that's all very well; but what do you want of me?"

"I want you to help me. If you don't, my son Thomas wi