Yet she had not bought the indulgence in vain.  But for that, she believed that Juliane’s soul would still be burning in the flames of purgatory.  The indulgence of the “Inquisitor” Tetzel had proved its power, and rescued her from the fire.  To demonstrate this fact she devised many a proof.  For instance, one day the idea entered her mind that foolish Juli’s brain was so weak because Juliane, during her brief existence, had used more of hers than was fair.

At first this had been a mere fancy; but, true to her nature, she reverted to it again and again, while in the cart which she alone shared with the child, until it had matured to an immovable conviction.  During her changeful, wandering life, she had had no fixed religious principles.  But, since the notion had entered her mind that Lienhard would reward her for her love by giving her a share, even though a very small one, of his heart, she had clung tenaciously to it, in spite of all rebuffs and the offensive indifference with which he had treated her.  On her sick bed and during her convalescence, she had dwelt upon the fear that her sinful prayer had killed the little wearer of the laurel wreath, until she could say to herself that events had proved it.  With the same firmness she now held to the belief that she had found the right idea concerning little Juli’s soul.

With the passionate desire to atone to the patrician’s daughter for the wrong which she had inflicted upon her, she clasped the vagabond’s child to her heart with the love of the most faithful mother, and her affectionate care seemed to benefit herself as well as the ailing little one.  Juli was as devoted to her Kuni as a faithful dog.  The kindness which the lame ropedancer showed to the fragile child was lavishly returned to her by a thousand proofs of the warmest attachment.

So Kuni had found one heart which kept its whole treasure of love for her alone, one creature who could not do without her, one fragile human plant to which she could be useful and helpful day and night.

Under the care of a faithful nurse little Juli gradually grew stronger, both physically and mentally.  The little girl’s wan cheeks began to be rosy, the convulsions and fever attacked her less frequently.  Besides the faint “Baba,” she learned to babble “Duni,” (instead of Kuni) and afterward “Mother,” and many other words.  At last she talked nearly as well as other children of her age.  All this afforded the lame girl a wealth of sweet joys wholly new to her, which afforded her heart such warmth and solace that, in spite of the cough which tormented her during many an hour of the day and night, she felt happier during her homeward journey with the fierce blasphemer Cyriax, from whom she expected the worst things, than in the brilliant days of her fame as an artist.  Doubtless, as they approached Germany, she often wondered what Lienhard would think of her, if he should meet her amid such surroundings, as the companion of so worthless a couple; but the terror that overpowered her was transformed into pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would approve, nay, praise her conduct, when she could show him the child, and tell him what she had done for it.