What a familiar little room it was, another fairy-like retreat like that of the Nameless Castle! Here were Marie's toys, her furniture; the four cats were purring in the window-seat, and the two pugs lay dozing on the sofa.
A canopy-bed stood in the alcove, and among the pillows lay Marie. Katharina was sitting by the bedside.
"Oh, God!" cried Vavel, in a tone so full of anguish that every one who heard it, man, woman, and child, burst into tears. The invalid among the pillows alone laughed—laughed aloud for joy.
And had she not cause to rejoice? Ludwig—her Ludwig—did not hasten first to embrace and kiss his betrothed wife. No, she, his little Marie, was the first!
He flung himself on his knees by the bed and covered the pale face with kisses and tears.
"Oh, my dearest! My adored saint! My idol!" he sobbed, while Marie's face glowed with the purest earthly happiness.
She pressed Ludwig's head to her breast and whispered soothingly:
"Don't grieve, Ludwig; I am not going to die. I have not got that horrid influenza poor papa Cambray brought with him from Paris. I took a little cold the night we ran away from the bombs; but I shall soon be well again, now that you are come. I want to live, Ludwig, and you, who rescued me from death once before, will know how to do it again."
Katharina laid her hand tenderly on the maid's head, and said gently:
"Don't talk any more now, dearest; you know you must not excite yourself."