Walpurga became oblivious of herself and of all that was dear to her in the cottage by the lake. She was now needed here, where a young life had been assigned to her loving-charge.
She looked up at Mademoiselle Kramer, with beaming eyes, and met a joyful glance in return.
"It seems to me," said Walpurga, "that a palace is just like a church. One has only good and pious thoughts here; and all the people are so kind and frank."
Mademoiselle Kramer suddenly smiled and replied:--
"My dear child--"
"Don't call me 'child'! I'm not a child! I'm a mother!"
"But here, in the great world, you are only a child. A court is a strange place. Some go hunting, others go fishing; one builds, another paints; one studies a rôle, another a piece of music; a dancer learns a new step, an author writes a new book. Every one in the land is doing something--cooking or baking, drilling or practicing, writing, painting, or dancing--simply in order that the king and queen may be entertained."
"I understand you," said Walpurga; and Mademoiselle Kramer continued:--
"My family has been in the service of the court for sixteen generations;"--six would have been the right number, but sixteen sounded so much better;--"my father is the governor of the summer palace, and I was born there. I know all about the court, and can teach you a great deal."
"And I'll be glad to learn," interposed Walpurga.