s her duty, and thought herself
better able than Bruno, to inform her father of the betrothal, and to
invoke his forbearance for this unfortunate, though wealthy, girl.
Never before had she made so many unsuccessful attempts to write a
letter. She had begun again and again, and had always ended by tearing
up the sheet and throwing it into the fire. She found it impossible to
finish her letter, and at last concluded to wait until she returned to
the summer palace. But she could not get rid a desire to speak of
parents, and when Baum came to her with a message, she detained him
with the question:

"Baum, are your parents still living?"

"No."

"Did you know them long?"

Baum coughed behind his raised hand and answered: "I never knew my
father; and my mother--my mother was taken from me long ago."

Baum, who still held his hand before his face, bit his lips and at last
ventured to ask: "May I inquire, my lady, why you put that question to
me?"

"I desire to acquaint myself with the life and history of those whom I
know personally."

Baum dropped his hand and his face was as smooth and void of expression
as before.

The strictest decorum was observed during their stay at the castle. On
one occasion, however, Irma felt offended, and that was when the old
lady--they called her "Her Grace"--declared the relation of an
affianced couple the silliest of all conventionalities--the most
natural and proper course would be to have marriage follow immediately
upon the betrothal--yes, in the very same hour.

These remarks were accompanied by a peculiar change in the expression
of the old lady's features. Irma was startled and did not get over her
fright, for when, at parting, the baroness impressed a kiss upon her,
Irma could not help shuddering.

Irma had been in the carriage for some time, when Bruno at last came,
and again stopped to throw a kiss to his betrothed, who was standing at
the window.

They drove off, and when Irma found herself alone with her brother she
said, in a loud voice and with a strange expression:

"Oh, father! father!" She drew a long and deep breath, as if relieved
from some dread spell.

"What ails you?" said Bruno.

Irma did not care to tell him what she felt, and merely replied:

"As soon as we get back to the palace, you must write to father, or,
what would be better, must go to him. Let him scold you, if it must be.
He's our father, after all, and will be kind to you once more and
ac