“I can return the compliment,” replied Henrica.  “You look very happy.  What has happened to you?”

“To me?  Oh! my husband was more cheerful than usual, and there was a great deal to tell at dinner.  I’ve only come to enquire for your health.  I will see you later.  Now I must go with the children to a sorrowful task.”

“With the children?  What have the little elf and Signor Salvatore to do with sorrow?”

“Captain Allertssohn will be buried to-morrow, and we are going to make some wreaths for the coffin.”

“Make wreaths!” cried Henrica, “I can teach you that!  There, Trautchen, take the plate and call the little ones.”

The servant went away, but Maria said anxiously:  “You will exert yourself too much again, Henrica.”

“I?  I shall be singing again to-morrow.  My preserver’s potion does wonders, I assure you.  Have you flowers and oak-leaves enough?”

“I should think so.”

At the last words the door opened and Bessie cautiously entered the room, walking on tiptoe as she had been told, went up to Henrica, received a kiss from her, and then asked eagerly: 

“Cousin Henrica, do you know?  Junker Georg, with the blue feather, is coming again to-morrow and will dine with us.”

“Junker Georg?” asked the young lady.

Maria interrupted the child’s reply, and answered in an embarrassed tone: 

“Herr von Domburg, an officer who came to the city with the Englishmen, of whom I spoke to you—­a German—­an old acquaintance.  Go and arrange the flowers with Adrian, Bessie, then I’ll come and help you.”

“Here, with Cousin Henrica,” pleaded the child.

“Yes, little elf, here; and we’ll both make the loveliest wreath you ever saw.”

The child ran out, and this time, in her delight, forgot to shut the door gently.

The young wife gazed out of the window.  Henrica watched her silently for a time and then exclaimed: 

“One word, Frau Maria.  What is going on in the court-yard?  Nothing?  And what has become of the happy light in your eyes?  Your house isn’t swarming with guests; why did you wait for Bessie to tell me about Junker Georg, the German, the old acquaintance?”

“Let that subject drop, Henrica.”

“No, no!  Do you know what I think?  The storm of war has blown to your house the young madcap, with whom you spent such happy hours at your sister’s wedding.  Am I right or wrong?  You needn’t blush so deeply.”

“It is he,” replied Maria gravely.  “But if you love me, forget what I told you about him, or deny yourself the idle amusement of alluding to it, for if you should still do so, it would offend me.”

“Why should I!  You are the wife of another.”

“Of another whom I honor and love, who trusts me and himself invited the Junker to his house.  I have liked the young man, admired his talents, been anxious when he trifled with his life as if it were a paltry leaf, which is flung into the river.”