Fannie sprang up from her couch.
“Paf! Paf! Paf! Paf!”
“It must be that wretched watch!” cried she.
“Paf!—Paf!—Paf!—Paf!”
“Yes! Yes! I am coming! I am coming!” And she hurried to the cellar and, picking up the watch, returned to her room in silence.
Then she called the poor old man, fed him, and comforted him, and sent him away with a full purse.
Evening arrived, and Fannie, all dressed for the Baron’s ball, shone more beautifully than ever in her magnificent gown. And just as her father was leading her to the carriage, a clumsy wagon drove up, and an old countrywoman descended from it, crying out that she must see her dear child—her Fannie—just once more before she died. It was Fannie’s old nurse who had come all the way from her village miles distant to hold her dear child in her arms. When she saw that Fannie was ready to go out, she screamed loudly and would have made herself ill, if Fannie had not embraced her tenderly, and promised to return before midnight. On the strength of this promise the old woman grew calm, and Fannie and her father went away to the ball.
But as the carriage drove through the streets, Fannie regretted her promise, and slipping her little hand under her cloak, she loosened the fatal watch, and flung it into a deep ditch.
“At last! At last!” she said to herself, with a sigh of relief.
Midnight sounded, and found her breathlessly twirling around in the dance, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing.