Every hour she rose, threw on her wrapper, thrust her feet into her slippers, and stole to the door of Ludwig's room to whisper: "How is he now, Henry ?" "He is sleeping quietly," Henry would answer encouragingly.

The faithful fellow had forgotten his master's anger, and was watching over him as tenderly as a mother over her child.
"He did not hurt you very much, did he, Henry ?" "No; it did not hurt, and I deserved what I got." The little maid pressed the old servant's hand, whereupon he sank to his knees at her feet, and, kissing her pretty fingers, whispered: "This fully repays me." The next morning Ludwig was entirely recovered.

He rose, and, as was his wont, drank six tumblerfuls of water--his usual breakfast.
Of the events of the past night he spoke not one word.
At ten o'clock the occupants of the Nameless Castle were to be seen out driving as usual--the white-haired groom, the stern-visaged gentleman, and the veiled lady.
That same morning Dr.Tromfszky received from the castle a packet containing his medical belongings, and an envelop in which he found a hundred-guilder bank-note, but not a single written word.
Meanwhile the days passed with their usual monotony for the occupants of the Nameless Castle, and September, with its delightfully warm weather drew on apace.

In Hungary the long autumn makes ample amends for the brief spring--like the frugal mother who stores away in May gifts with which to surprise her children later in the season.
Down at the lake, a merry crowd of naked children disported in the water; their shouts and laughter could be heard at the castle.

Ludwig fully understood the deep melancholy which had settled on Marie's countenance.