for which she had vainly yearned, alas! how long, but because it pierced her very heart to see Frau Katharina’s happiness clouded, nay, perhaps destroyed.  A bitterness usually alien to her light, gay nature had taken possession of her, as, with the last glance she cast at Lienhard, she saw him bend low over the child and, with fiery ardour, whisper something which transformed the delicate pink flush in her cheeks to the hue of the poppy.

Yes, the ropedancer was jealous of the laurel-crowned child.  She, who cared so little for law and duty, virtue and morality, now felt offended, wounded, tortured by Lienhard’s conduct.  But there was no time to ponder over the reason now.  She had already delayed too long ere moving forward.

Yet even calm reflection would not have revealed the right answer to the problem.  How could she have suspected that what stirred her passionate soul so fiercely was grief at the sight of the man whom she had regarded as the stronghold of integrity, the possessor of the firmest will, the soul of inviolable fidelity, succumbing here, before the eyes of all, like a dissolute weakling, to the seductive arts of an immature kobold?  These two, who gave to her, the orphaned vagrant, surrounded by unbridled recklessness, physical and mental misery, a proof that there was still in marriage real love and a happiness secure from every assault, were now, before her eyes, placing themselves on the same plane with the miserable couples whom she met everywhere.  She could not have expressed her emotions in words, but she vaguely felt that the world had become poorer, and that henceforth she must think of something more trivial when she tried to imagine the pure happiness which mortals are permitted to enjoy.  She had seen the blossoms stripped from the scanty remnant of her faith in truth and goodness, which had begun to bloom afresh in her heart through the characters of this pair whose marriage procession she had watched.

Loni had been beckoning a long time; now he waved his gay handkerchief still more impatiently, and she moved on.

Her lips forced themselves into the customary smile with difficulty.  Tripping forward was an easy matter for one so free from dizziness.  She only carried the pole because it was customary to begin with the least difficult feats.  Yet, while gracefully placing one foot before the other, she said to herself—­safe as she felt—­that, while so much agitated, she would be wiser not to look down again into the depths below.  She did avoid it, and with a swift run gained the end of the rope without effort, and went up and down it a second time.

While, on reaching the end of her walk, she was chalking her soles again, the applause which had accompanied her during her dangerous pilgrimage still rose to her ears, and came-most loudly of all from the stand where Lienhard sat among the distinguished spectators.  He, too, had clapped his hands lustily, and shouted, “Bravo!” Never had he beheld any ropedancer display so much grace, strength, and daring.  His modest protegee had become a magnificently developed woman.  How could he have imagined that the unfortunate young creature whom he had saved from disgrace would show such courage, such rare skill?