Gombert and Appenzelder, Massi, the Wollers from the Ark, Dr. Hiltner’s wife and daughter, the boy singer Hannibal, and many gentlemen of the court-nay, even the Bishop of Arras—­came to inquire for her, and Barbara had strictly enjoined Frau Lerch to tell her everything that concerned her; for every token of sympathy filled the place, as it were, of the applause to which she was accustomed.

When, on the second day, she heard that old Ursula had been there to ask about her for Wolf, who was now convalescing, she passionately insisted upon seeing her, but, obedient to the physician’s orders, Frau Lerch would not admit her.  Then Barbara flew into such a rage that the foolish woman forgot to take the fever into account, and determined to return home.  Many motives drew her there, but especially her business; day and night her mind was haunted by the garments which, just at this time, before the commencement of the Reichstag, other dressmakers were fashioning for her aristocratic customers.

A certain feeling of shame had restrained her from leaving Barbara directly after the beginning of her illness.  Besides, delay had been advisable, because the appearance of the Emperor’s physician proved that the monarch’s love was not wholly dead.  But Barbara’s outbreak now came at an opportune time, for yesterday, by the leech’s suggestion, and with the express approval of the Emperor, one of the Dominican nuns, Sister Hyacinthe, had come from the Convent of the Holy Cross and, with quiet dignity, assumed her office of nurse beside her charge’s sick-bed.  This forced Fran Lerch into a position which did not suit her, and as, soon after Barbara’s outbreak, Dr. Mathys sternly ordered her to adopt a more quiet and modest bearing, she declared that she would not bear such insult and abuse, hastily packed her property, and returned to the Grieb with a much larger amount of luggage than she had brought with her.

Sister Hyacinthe now ruled alone in the sickroom, and the calm face of the nun, whose cap concealed hair already turning gray, exerted as soothing an influence upon the patient as her low, pleasant voice.  She was the daughter of a knightly race, and had taken the veil from a deep inward vocation, as one of the elect who, in following Christ, forget themselves, in order to dedicate to her suffering neighbours all her strength and the great love which filled her heart.  They were her world, and her sole pleasure was to satisfy the compassionate impulse in her own breast by severe toil, by tender solicitude, by night watching, and by exertions often continued to actual suffering.  Death, into whose face she had looked beside so many sickbeds, was to her a kind friend who held the key of the eternal home where the Divine Bridegroom awaited her.

The events occurring in the world, whether peace reigned or the nations were at war with one another, affected her only so far as they were connected with her patient.  Her thoughts and acts, all her love and solicitude, referred solely to the invalid in her care.