Never had she heard such a speech as this from her kindly master, and when from fright she tipped the tray which she was carrying and spilled some of the mulled wine over her gown, he cried sharply:  “Where are your wits!  First you forget to take the red hot warming-pan out of the bed and now you old goose you spill my good drink onto the floor.”

He stopped, for Frau Vorkel had set down the tray on the table in order to wipe her eyes with her apron; then he thrust his feet out of the bed-which was entirely contrary to his usual decorous behavior—­and demanded with flashing eyes:  “Did you hear what I just said?”

The widow, greatly shocked, retreated and answered sobbing:  “How could I help hearing, and how can you bring yourself to insult an unprotected widow who has served you long and faithfully. . . .”

“I have done it, I have done it,” the old man cried, his eyes glistening with joy and pride as if he had just accomplished an heroic undertaking.  “I am sorry I called you a goose, and as for your lack of brains, well you might have a few more, but, and this I can assure you, you are honest and true and understand your business, and if you will only be as good to me as I have always been to you. . . .”

“Oh, Herr. . . .”  Widow Vorkel interrupted him, and covered her face with her apron; but he would not let her finish her sentence, so great was his excitement and continued in a hoarse voice:  “You must grant what I ask, Vorkel, after all these years, and if you will, you must take that little phial there and inhale its contents, and when you have done so you must let me ask you some questions.”

After much persuasion, the housekeeper yielded to the wishes of her master, and while she still held the little bottle from which the ether escaped, to her nose, the Court apothecary questioned her hastily:  “Do you think that I have always acted like a man, diligently striving for the good of himself and his house?”

Some strange change seemed to take place in Frau Vorkel; she planted her hands on her hips most disrespectfully—­a thing she never did except perhaps when she was scolding the maid or the butcher boy—­and laughed loud and scornfully:  “My, what a question!  You may, perhaps, have a larger stock of useless information than an old woman like me,—­though strictly speaking I cannot be called an old woman yet—­but despite my being stupid and a ‘goose,’ I have always been wiser than you, and I know which side one’s bread is buttered on.  Bless me!  And is there anything more idiotic than that you, the father of the best son in the world, should sit here alone, fretting yourself yellow and lean until from a stately looking man you grow to be a scarecrow, when one word from you would bring your only child back again and with him the wife and sweet grandchild, that you might all enjoy life together!  If that isn’t sheer folly and a sin and a shame. . . .”