grasped her crinoline with both hands, rose for a moment on her sturdy legs, and sat a little further off. Her fresh face had a bright flush upon it. The beautiful dark eyes of the invalid greedily followed every movement of the maid. Presently the mistress rested both arms on the seat of the carriage, and also tried to raise herself in order to sit up a little higher, but her strength failed her. Her mouth pouted, and her whole face wore an expression of impotent, angry scorn.
"Help me, would you! It is really quite unnecessary. I can do it myself, only don't load me with your—what shall I call them—your sacks then—have a little mercy! Better not touch me at all if you can't do better than that!"
The mistress closed her eyes—presently she quickly raised her eyelids again and glanced at her maid. The maid, as she returned her gaze, nibbled at her pretty lower lip. A deep sigh arose from the invalid's breast, but the sigh ended in a cough. She turned aside, puckered her brow, and grasped her bosom with both hands. When the cough ceased she closed her eyes again and continued to sit motionless. The carriage and the calesche entered a village. The maid drew her plump hand from beneath her jacket and crossed herself.
"What is it?" asked her mistress.
"A posting-station, my lady."
"Why did you cross yourself? I ask."
"We passed the church, my lady."
The invalid turned to the window, and began slowly to cross herself, looking with all her big eyes at the
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