Never mind, there is plenty of good to be done, as Ursula knew, without almsgiving.
“I wish you would not go to the Hemel,” pleaded Otto in the face of her efforts; “you would do me a great favor, Ursula. Mother has so many causes of complaint against me already, and she is dreadfully afraid of infection. Besides, it is altogether useless. They only make a fool of you. Nothing good ever came, or can come, from that horrible place.”
“‘I SHOULD WISH TO—PAY SEVEN FLORINS MORE PER WEEK’”
So life flowed on at the Horst, for its chatelaine, in a narrow little stream, over rocks, amid a vast splendor of scenery. The Baron, her husband, working day and night in the almost hopeless effort to make both ends meet, waxed sombre and careworn beneath the ever-increasing dislike of his numerous dependants. Towards his wife he was always affectionate, closing the door to his heart-chamber of torture and seeking relaxation as from a beautiful plaything. And Gerard, except for the briefest of visits, remained at Drum.
When the Stork, some twelve months after the old Baron’s death, tapped at Ursula’s window, her life was no longer empty. Suddenly the Baby filled it to overflowing. Every one manifested an absorbing interest in the Baby, as was his due, even the Freule Louisa, for babies, surely, are vast potentialities. Miss Mopius forgot her slumbering grievances and rubbed the Baby’s back with fluid electricity. The Dominé christened his grandchild, wearing his Legion of Honor, as he had done at Ursula’s wedding. But the Dowager Baroness very nearly refused to be present at the ceremony, for the heir of the house received the single name of Otto.