discloses, one is always that of invention. When Matilda went, according to custom, early in the morning, to the housekeeper, to take counsel with her about the affairs of the kitchen, Dame Gertrude was so unnerved that she could not fix her thoughts on common things, nor attend to the choice of meats; great tears, like droppings from a roof, rolled down her leathern cheeks. “Alas, Matilda!” sobbed she, “I shall soon cease to be housekeeper here; our poor master cannot live out the day.” This was very mournful news! The maiden thought she should sink with terror; but she recovered courage, and said, “Do not despair for the life of our lord, he will not die, but will recover: last night I had a good dream.” The old woman was a living dream-book; hunted up every dream of the servants, whenever she could catch one; always explained it so that the fulfilment came to her liking—for the most agreeable dreams with her always alluded to quarrels, contentions, and scoldings. “Tell thy dream,” said she, “that I may explain it.”—“It seemed to me,” began Matilda, “as if I were at home with my dear mother, who took me aside, and taught me to cook a broth from nine different kinds of herbs, which would cure any sickness, if only three spoonfuls of it are swallowed. ‘Prepare this for thy lord,’ said she, ‘and he will recover from that hour.’” Dame Gertrude was much astonished at this dream, and abstained this time from her customary interpretations. “Thy dream is wonderful,” said she, “and not accidental. Prepare thy broth at once, for breakfast; I will see if I can prevail on our lord to taste it.”
Count Conrad lay in silent meditation, faint and powerless; he felt that he was on his last journey, and wished to receive the last consolations of the Church; when Dame Gertrude went in to him, drew him away by her voluble tongue from his meditations, and tormented him with well-intentioned talkativeness, so that he, to get rid of her, promised what she desired. In the mean while Matilda prepared her broth, put into it different kitchen herbs, and costly spices, and laid in it the diamond ring which the knight had given her as a pledge of fidelity, and called the servants to take it in. The sick man feared the loud eloquence of the housekeeper, which still rang in his ears so loudly, that he compelled himself to take a spoonful of the soup. As he touched the bottom, he observed a strange substance, which he fished up, and found it, to his astonishment, a diamond ring. His eye immediately shone full of life and youthful fire, the sickliness of his appearance was gone, and he emptied the whole cup with a decided appetite, to the great joy of Dame Gertrude and the expecting servants. All ascribed the extraordinary recovery to the soup, for the knight had not let any of them perceive the ring. Then he turned to Dame Gertrude, and said, “Who prepared this food which has done me so much good, restored my strength, and recalled me to life?” The careful old woman
