"The higher people are, the better they are," said Walpurga, when she got back to her room. "The queen's the highest and best of them all."
Walpurga was sent for by Countess Brinkenstein, who was standing in the same place and in the same position as when she had received the nurse, nearly a year ago. She had seen this rigid lady almost every day. In all that time she had not become more familiar, but had treated Walpurga with unvarying kindness. It now seemed as if her disposition, or perhaps her office, required her to dismiss Walpurga in a formal manner.
"You have behaved well," said Countess Brinkenstein, with a kindly motion of the hand; "their majesties are satisfied with you. And now, farewell; and keep yourself good."
She did not rise, nor offer her hand to Walpurga. She merely nodded in token of farewell, and Walpurga left.
Although this mode of dismissal was by no means over-gentle or courteous, it, nevertheless, afforded Walpurga great satisfaction. She felt as if she had received a sort of honorable discharge. Although Countess Brinkenstein had ruled with almost military severity, she had always been the same and could always be relied upon. And this consistency was not without its due influence on Walpurga's mind.
In Walpurga's room stood two large chests, filled to the very top and locked. She had received many presents during the year, and enough money to buy a moderate-sized farm. She would sit down, now on one and now on the other chest, and when she at last lay down to rest, she still cast a wistful eye on her treasures. Like wandering spirits, her thoughts roved through the apartments of the palace, and then to her cottage at home, through the garden and over the mountains, until she was suddenly awakened by the crying of the child. She was obliged to ask herself whether it was her own, or a strange child. She speedily quieted the prince, but remained beside his cradle. "Sleep shan't steal another minute of the time that's left us," said she softly.
Day dawned. Walpurga nursed the child for the last time. A tear dropped on its head; it looked up at her and then fell asleep, resting against her heart. She whispered softly into its little left hand, which she held to her lips.
She put the child in the cradle again, fixed one more sad look upon it, then, with her back turned, walked around the cradle thrice, and, at last, said to Mademoiselle Kramer:
"I'm going now; it's time."
The servants came and carried the chests away. Walpurga was in so forgiving a mood, that she even took leave of the Frenchwoman. She did not look back toward the cradle, but went downstairs, and ordered the boxes to be carried to an inn near the palace, where she had asked Hansei to meet her. She thought he would surely be on hand by that time, for she had told him the very hour when he could meet her. But Hansei was not there.