after　him　with　his　musket　on　his　shoulder；　passed　under　their　windows；
  but　who　he　was；　or　what　he；　had　done；　or　was　to　suffer；　they　never　knew。
  Another　time　a　pair　went　by　on　the　way　to　the　railway　station：　a　young
  man　carrying　an　umbrella　under　his　arm；　and　a　very　decent…looking　old
  woman　lugging　a　heavy　carpet　bag；　who　left　them　to　the　lasting　question
  whether　she　was　the　young　man's　servant　in　her　best　clothes；　or　merely
  his　mother。
  Women　do　not　do　everything　in　Ansbach；　however；　the　sacristans　being　men；
  as　the　Marches　found　when　they　went　to　complete　their　impression　of　the
  courtly　past　of　the　city　by　visiting　the　funeral　chapel　of　the　margraves
  in　the　crypt　of　St。　Johannis　Church。　　In　the　little　ex…margravely　capital
  there　was　something　of　the　neighborly　interest　in　the　curiosity　of
  strangers　which　endears　Italian　witness。　　The　white…haired　street…sweeper
  of　Ansbach；　who　willingly　left　his　broom　to　guide　them　to　the　house　of
  the　sacristan；　might　have　been　a　street…sweeper　in　Vicenza；　and　the　old
  sacristan；　when　he　put　his　velvet　skull…cap　out　of　an　upper　window　and
  professed　his　willingness　to　show　them　the　chapel；　disappointed　them　by
  saying　〃Gleich！〃　instead　of　〃Subito！〃　The　architecture　of　the　houses　was
  a　party　to　the　illusion。　　St。　Johannis；　like　the　older　church　of　St。
  Gumpertus；　is　Gothic；　with　the　two　unequal　towers　which　seem　distinctive
  of　Ansbach；　at　the　St。　Gumpertus　end　of　the　place　where　they　both　stand
  the　dwellings　are　Gothic　too；　and　might　be　in　Hamburg；　but　at　the　St。
  Johannis　end　they　seem　to　have　felt　the　exotic　spirit　of　the　court；　and
  are　of　a　sort　of　Teutonized　renaissance。
  The　rococo　margraves　and　margravines　used　of　course　to　worship　in　St。
  Johannis　Church。　　Now　they　all；　such　as　did　not　marry　abroad；　lie　in　the
  crypt　of　the　church；　in　caskets　of　bronze　and　copper　and　marble；　with
  draperies　of　black　samite；　more　and　more　funereally　vainglorious　to　the
  last。　　Their　courtly　coffins　are　ranged　in　a　kind　of　hemicycle；　with　the
  little　coffins　of　the　children　that　died　before　they　came　to　the
  knowledge　of　their　greatness。　　On　one　of　these　a　kneeling　figurine　in
  bronze　holds　up　the　effigy　of　the　child　within；　on　another　the　epitaph
  plays　tenderly　with　the　fate　of　a　little　princess；　who　died　in　her　first
  year。
  In　the　Rose…month　was　this　sweet　Rose　taken。
  For　the　Rose…kind　hath　she　earth　forsaken。
  The　Princess　is　the　Rose；　that　here　no　longer　blows。
  From　the　stem　by　death's　hand　rudely　shaken。
  Then　rest　in　the　Rose…house。
  Little　Princess…Rosebud　dear！
  There　life's　Rose　shall　bloom　again
  In　Heaven's　sunshine　clear。
  While　March　struggled　to　get　this　into　English　words；　two　German　ladies；
  who　had　made　themselves　of　his　party；　passed　reverently　away　and　left　him
  to　pay　the　sacristan　alone。
  〃That　is　all　right；〃　he　said；　when　he　came　out。　　〃I　think　we　got　the　most
  value；　and　they　didn't　look　as　if　they　could　afford　it　so　well；　though
  you　never　can　tell；　here。　　These　ladies　may　be　the　highest　kind　of
  highhotes　practising　a　praiseworthy　economy。　　I　hope　the　lesson　won't　be
  lost　on　us。　　They　have　saved　enough　by　us　for　their　coffee　at　the
  Orangery。　　Let　us　go　and　have　a　little　willow…leaf　tea！〃
  The　Orangery　perpetually　lured　them　by　what　it　had　kept　of　the　days　when
  an　Orangery　was　essential　to　the　self…respect　of　every　sovereign　prince；
  and　of　so　many　private　gentlemen。　　On　their　way　they　always　passed　the
  statue　of　Count　Platen；　the　dull　poet　whom　Heine's　hate　would　have
  delivered　so　cruelly　over　to　an　immortality　of　contempt；　but　who　stands
  there　near　the　Schloss　in　a　grass…plot　prettily　planted　with　flowers；　and
  ignores　his　brilliant　enemy　in　the　comfortable　durability　of　bronze；　and
  there　always　awaited　them　in　the　old　pleasaunce　the　pathos　of　Kaspar
  Hauser's　fate；　which　his　murder　affixes　to　it　with　a　red　stain。
  After　their　cups　of　willow　leaves　at　the　caf？they　went　up　into　that　nook
  of　the　plantation　where　the　simple　shaft　of　church…warden's　Gothic
  commemorates　the　assassination　on　the　spot　where　it　befell。　　Here　the
  hapless　youth；　whose　mystery　will　never　be　fathomed　on　earth；　used　to
  come　for　a　little　respite　from　his　harsh　guardian　in　Ansbach；　homesick
  for　the　kindness　of　his　Nuremberg　friends；　and　here　his　murderer　found
  him　and　dealt　him　the　mortal　blow。
  March　lingered　upon　the　last　sad　circumstance　of　the　tragedy　in　which　the
  wounded　boy　dragged　himself　home；　to　suffer　the　suspicion　and　neglect　of
  his　guardian　till　death　attested　his　good　faith　beyond　cavil。　　He　said
  this　was　the　hardest　thing　to　bear　in　all　his　story；　and　that　he　would
  like　to　have　a　look　into　the　soul　of　the　dull；　unkind　wretch　who　had　so
  misread　his　charge。　　He　was　going　on　with　an　inquiry　that　pleased　him
  much；　when　his　wife　pulled　him　abruptly　away。
  〃Now；　I　see；　you　are　yielding　to　the　fascination　of　it；　and　you　are
  wanting　to　take　the　material　from　Burnamy！〃
  〃Oh；　well；　let　him　have　the　material；　he　will　spoil　it。　　And　I　can　always
  reject　it；　if　he　offers　it　to　'Every　Other　Week'。〃
  〃I　could　believe；　after　your　behavior　to　that　poor　woman　about　her　son　in
  Jersey　City；　you're　really　capable　of　it。〃
  〃What　comprehensive　inculpation！　　I　had　forgotten　about　that　poor　woman。〃
  LI。
  The　letters　which　March　had　asked　his　Nuremberg　banker　to　send　them　came
  just　as　they　were　leaving　Ansbach。　　The　landlord　sent　them　down　to　the
  station；　and　Mrs。　March　opened　them　in　the　train；　and　read　them　first　so
  that　she　could　prepare　him　if　there　were　anything　annoying　in　them；　as
  well　as　indulge　her　livelier　curiosity。
  〃They're　from　both　the　children；〃　she　said；　without　waiting　for　him　to
  ask。　　〃You　can　look　at　them　later。　　There's　a　very　nice　letter　from　Mrs。
  Adding　to　me；　and　one　from　dear　little　Rose　for　you。〃　　Then　she
  hesitated；　with　her　hand　on　a　letter　faced　down　in　her　lap。　　〃And　there's
  one　from　Agatha　Triscoe；　which　I　wonder　what　you'll　think　of。〃　　She
  delayed　again；　and　then　flashed　it　open　before　him；　and　waited　with　a
  sort　of　impassioned　patience　while　he　read　it。
  He　read　it；　and　gave　it　back　to　her。　　〃There　doesn't　seem　to　be　very　much
  in　it。〃
  〃That's　it！　　Don't　you　think　I　had　a　right　to　there　being　something　in
  it；　after　all　I　did　for　her？〃
  〃I　always　hoped　you　hadn't　done　anything　for　her；　but　if　you　have；　why
  should　she　give　herself　away　on　paper？　　It's　a　very　proper　letter。〃
  〃It's　a　little　too　proper；　and　it's　the　last　I　shall　have　to　do　with　her。
  She　knew　that　I　should　be　on　pins　and　needles　till　I　heard　how　her　father
  had　taken　Burnamy's　being　there；　that　night；　and　she　doesn't　say　a　word
  about　it。〃
  〃The　general　may　have　had　a　tantrum　that　she　couldn't　describe。　　Perhaps
  she　hasn't　told　him；　yet。〃
  〃She　would　tell　him　instantly！〃　　cried　Mrs。　March　who　began　to　find
  reason　in　the　supposition；　as　well　as　comfort　for　the　hurt　which　the
  girl's　reticence　had　given　her。　　〃Or　if　she　wouldn't；　it　would　be　because
  she　was　waiting　for　the　best　chance。〃
  〃That　would　be　like　the　wise　daughter　of　a　difficult　father。　　She　may　be
  waiting　for　the　best　chance　to　say　how　he　took　it。　　No；　I'm　all　for　Miss
  Triscoe；　and　I　hope　that　now；　if　she's　taken　herself　off　our　hands；
  she'll　keep　off。〃
  〃It's　altogether　likely　that　he's　made　her　promise　not　to　tell　me
  anything　about　it；〃　Mrs。　March　mused　aloud。
  〃That　would　be　unjust　to　a　person　who　had　behaved　so　discreetly　as　you
  have；〃　said　her　husband。
  They　were　on　their　way　to　Wurzburg；　and　at　the　first　station；　which　was　a
  junction；　a　lady　mounted　to　their　compartment　just　before　the　train　began
  to　move。　　She　was　stout　and　middle…aged；　and　had　never　been　pretty；　but
  she　bore　herself　with　a　kind　of　authority　in　spite　of　her　thread　gloves；
  her　dowdy　gray　travelling…dress；　and　a　hat　of　lower　middle…class　English
  tastelessness。　　She　took　the　only　seat　vacant；　a　backward…riding　place
  beside　a　sleeping　passenger　who　looked　like　a　commercial　traveller；　but
  she　seemed　ill　at　ease　in　it；　and　March　offered　her　his　seat。　　She
  accepted　it　very　promptly；　and　thanked　him　for　it　in　the　English　of　a
  German；　and　Mrs。　March　now　classed　her　as　a　governess　who　had　been
  teaching　in　England　and　had　acquired　the　national　feeling　for　dress。
  But　in　this　character　she　found　her　interesting；　and　even　a　little
  pathetic；　and　she　made　her　some　overtures　of　talk　which　the　other　met
  eagerly　enough。　　They　were　now　running　among　low　hills；　not　so
  picturesque　as　those　between　Eger　and　Nuremberg；　but　of　much　the　same
  toylike　quaintness　in　the　villages　dropped　here　and　there　in　their
  valleys。　　One　small　town；　completely　walled；　with　its　gray　houses　and　red
  roofs；　showed　through　the　green　of　its　trees　and　gardens　so　like　a
  colored　print　in　a　child's　story…book　that　Mrs。　March　cried　out　for　joy
  in　it；　and　then　accounted　for　her　rapture　by　explaining　to　the　stranger
  that　they　were　Americans　and　had　never　been　in　Germany　before。　　The　lady
  was　not　visibly　affected　by　the　fact；　she　said　casually　that　she　had
  often　been　in　that　little　town；　which　she　named；　her　uncle　had　a　castle
  in　the　country　back　of　it；　and　she　came　with　her　husband　for　the　shooting
  in　the　autumn。　　By　a　natural　transition　she