lay almost as still as death, the people were nearly all at work in the fields. No one was to be seen, save a group of children, playing in the broad village street, untroubled by the hot sunshine.

Suddenly the distant rumble of a carriage was heard, and a moment after an elegant conveyance came in sight. The groom sat behind, and a gentleman himself managed the spirited black horses;--there was no doubt that he saw the children, but he seemed to imagine that they must also see him, and would move out of the way in time, for he drove straight through the village at the sharpest pace, though in such a broad street, it would have been quite easy to have turned out of the way. The little group of children flew right and left as he approached; only one, a little fellow, perhaps two years old, sat still, quite unconscious of his danger, and when the frightened children at last roused him by their cries, the carriage was already almost upon him. He now, at last, attempted to get up, but stunned, and unaccustomed to run, he stumbled at the first step, and fell down right in front of the horses. The driver of the carriage, only perceiving the child at that instant, drew them up with all his strength, but they were in full trot, and very spirited animals, so that he did not succeed in stopping them at once, and the boy seemed lost. Then the young girl suddenly flew towards the child, and, quick as lightning, tore him away almost from under the hoofs of the horses, took him in her arms and sprang aside. An instant later would have been fatal to him! A moment after the driver had succeeded in pulling up the fiery animals, but their hoofs stamped the place where the child lay a few seconds since, and he, quiet enough from fright in the moment of danger, now that he found himself safe, burst into a loud scream.

Count Arnau gave the reins to his groom, sprang from the carriage, and approached the two.

"Is any one hurt?" asked he, hastily.

"I am not, but the child--"

Without answering a word, Hermann took the little one from her arms, felt and examined him rather roughly, but very thoroughly, on all sides, and soon convinced himself that he was not the least injured.

"It is nothing," said he calmly. "He was only frightened; come, cry-baby, you are all right enough!"

So saying, he carelessly put down the child, who, intimidated by the rough tone, was now silent and looked up at him anxiously with great eyes, still full of tears. The Count then turned politely to the young girl who had saved him.

"You showed great courage, mein Fräulein. It was impossible to stop the horses so quickly, and the little fellow would have been lost but for you."

His eyes looked over the girl quickly and sharply during this speech. She was still very youthful looking, as she stood there before him, certainly not more than seventeen years of age, with a slender, refined figure. Her dress was extremely simple. During the hasty movement which she made to save the child, her round straw hat had slipped off, and hung loosely on her neck, so that the full, warm, midday sun lit up her face, and the shining golden hair which surrounded it, the latter simply parted in front, and wound round the back of her head in heavy coils. Perhaps the blinding illumination of the sun made her look particularly charming at this moment, else her face was not actually beautiful, at least, not yet, though the lines of future beauty might already be traced in her features. At present they were still unformed and childish; the only characteristic which gave the face a particular charm were the great, deep, blue eyes, with their unusual, almost mysterious expression. There lay an earnestness beyond her years in these eyes, something more even than that, a shade, such as a life of care, suffering, and oppression, which cannot be fled from, will imprint upon a human countenance. Certainly the young face showed no trace of this, except in the one feature, the childish brow showed no furrow, the mouth no hard lines, but only in the eyes this shade lay deeply, as she lifted them, now, full of gravity and reproach.

"A human life does not seem worth much in your eyes, or surely you would have given more thought to his danger."

Count Arnau looked greatly astonished at this reprimand, and measured the youthful admonitress with a long, surprised glance.

"The child is all right!" said he, in an off-hand tone, "he cried for pleasure, I suppose."

"But a moment later, and he would have been run over."

Hermann shrugged his shoulders. "Would have been!--Yes, if we always troubled ourselves about what might have happened, the day would not be long enough for every one's complaints. Fortunately all is well in this case, your courageous interference saved me from a disagreeable responsibility. I greatly regret having frightened you."

"I was not frightened."

Her words sounded cold and repellant, the way in which the Count treated the whole matter appeared to hurt the young girl. She knelt down by the boy, and busied herself in rubbing off the sand with which his little face and hands were covered, fortunately the only trace which the accident had left.

Hermann remained where he was, watching her. Hitherto, he had always stoutly maintained, that, with the exception of his grandmother, who, in consequence of her energetic, masculine character, he hardly reckoned as belonging to the feminine race, every woman either went into hysterics or fainted at the sight of danger, and was greatly astonished to find a second exception here. "I was not frightened," she had declared, and, indeed, she had not been. Her face had retained its usual colour, her hands did not tremble, as she went gently and deftly to work, the young girl showed just as much calmness now as she had just before shown presence of mind.

The door of the neighbouring house now opened, and a woman, poorly and untidily dressed, with rough hair, and a dull, expressionless face, came hurriedly out to take the boy from a stranger's arms, the Count felt in his pocket.

"The child was almost run over by my carriage, take more care of it in future. Here is something for the fright he got."

The dull features of the woman, which had hitherto hardly shown any concern, lighted up at sight of the shining thalers which he held out to her in his haughty, indifferent way. She curtseyed low, and thanked the Gnädigen Herrn Grafen^[4] for his kindness. The young girl had half risen, her large eyes travelling slowly from the mother to the child, and then back to the money, which the former held in her hand. She stood up suddenly, turned her back upon the group, and without saying a word, went towards the inn.

With quick steps Hermann overtook her.

"You see the fright was soon atoned for. The woman will bless the chance which has thrown her day's wages for three weeks into her hands."

The words sounded half mocking, and half like a sort of excuse. The girl pressed her lips together.

"I did not think it possible that a mother could possess so little self-respect as to let anxiety for her child's safety be bought off in that way."

Hermann smiled sarcastically.

"Self respect! In a village woman? Pardon me, Fräulein, you must come from a town, and cannot know our country folks."

"One can make acquaintance with poverty in the town too, especially when no very great depth separates one from it, Herr Graf."