, I fear, gave him pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz's
marriage; and Babette was brought to the mill to be its mistress. Not
that I cared much for giving up my post, for, in spite of my father's
great kindness, I always feared that I did not manage well for so large
a family (with the men, and a girl under Kaetchen, we sat down eleven
each night to supper). But when Babette began to find fault with
Kaetchen, I was unhappy at the blame that fell on faithful servants; and
by-and-by I began to see that Babette was egging on Karl to make more
open love to me, and, as she once said, to get done with it, and take
me off to a home of my own. My father was growing old, and did not
perceive all my daily discomfort. The more Karl advanced, the more I
disliked him. He was good in the main, but I had no notion of being
married, and could not bear any one who talked to me about it.

Things were in this way when I had an invitation to go to Carlsruhe to
visit a schoolfellow, of whom I had been very fond. Babette was all for
my going; I don't think I wanted to leave home, and yet I had been very
fond of Sophie Rupprecht. But I was always shy among strangers. Somehow
the affair was settled for me, but not until both Fritz and my father
had made inquiries as to the character and position of the Rupprechts.
They learned that the father had held some kind of inferior position
about the Grand-duke's court, and was now dead, leaving a widow, a
noble lady, and two daughters, the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend.
Madame Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable--genteel. When
this was ascertained, my father made no opposition to my going; Babette
forwarded it by all the means in her power, and even my dear Fritz had
his word to say in its favour. Only Kaetchen was against it--Kaetchen and
Karl. The opposition of Karl did more to send me to Carlsruhe than
anything. For I could have objected to go; but when he took upon
himself to ask what was the good of going a-gadding, visiting strangers
of whom no one knew anything, I yielded to circumstances--to the
pulling of Sophie and the pushing of Babette. I was silently vexed, I
remember, at Babette's inspection of my clothes; at the way in which
she settled that this gown was too old-fashioned, or that too common,
to go with me on my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in which she
took upon herself to spend the money my father had given me to buy what
was requisite for the occasion. A