In the terrible tumult of her heart she had forgotten to eat or to drink since early morning, and at last, in the afternoon, some one knocked at the door, and the landlady called her.

While she was hurriedly smoothing her thick black hair and straightening her best gown, which she had put on for him in the morning, she heard the hostess say that Herr Groland of the Council was waiting for her downstairs.  Every drop of blood left her glowing cheeks, and the knees which never trembled on the rope shook as she descended the narrow steps.

He came forward to meet her in the entry, holding out his hand with open-hearted frankness.  How handsome and how good he was!  No one wore that look who desired aught which must be hidden under the veil of darkness.  Ere her excited blood had time to cool, he had beckoned to her to follow him into the street, where a sedan chair was standing.

An elderly lady of dignified bearing looked out and met her eyes with a pleasant glance.  It was Frau Sophia, the widow of Herr Conrad Schurstab of the Council, one of the richest and most aristocratic noblewomen in the city.  Lienhard had told her about the charming prisoner who had been released and begged her to help him bring her back to a respectable and orderly life.  The lady needed an assistant who, now that it was hard for her to stoop, would inspect the linen closets, manage the poultry yard-her pride—­and keep an eye on the children when they came to visit their grandmother.  So she instantly accompanied Lienhard to the tavern, and Kuni pleased her.  But it would have been difficult not to feel some degree of sympathy for the charming young creature who, in great embarrassment, yet joyously as though released from a heavy burden, raised her large blue eyes to the kind stranger.

It was cold in the street, and as Kuni had come out without any wrap, Frau Schurstab, in her friendly consideration, shortened the, conference.  Lienhard Uroland had helped her with a few words, and when the sedan chair and the young Councillor moved down the street all the necessary details were settled.  The vagrant had bound herself and assumed duties, though they were very light ones.  She was to move that evening into the distinguished widow’s house, not as a servant, but as the old lady’s assistant.

Loni, the manager of the company of rope-dancers, had watched the negotiations from the taproom.  During their progress each of the three windows was filled with heads, but no one had been able to hear what was whispered in the street.  Just as the curious spectators were hoping that now they might perhaps guess what the aristocratic lady wanted with Kuni, the sedan chair began to move, and the young girl entered the hot room to tell Loni that she would leave the company that day forever.