"My good child," said he, "I'm not at all
sure that I can do what you wish. It is
possible that I might manage to advance a hundred
francs or so; but I am not a rich milord, Mam'-sell
Kätchen, who has but to put his hand in
his pocket and bring it out full of gold napoleons.
I work hard, and have others to think
of, besides myself. Look here. If you will go
and sit by the fire in the billiard-room—there
isn't a soul there, I'll answer for it—I'll just
think over how my money matters stand and
give you an answer. I won't keep you long."

Kätchen suffered him to take her cold hand,
and lead her along the stone passage until they
reached the door of the billiard-room. It was
empty, as he had promised, and he placed her
by the stove, and was about to leave her, when
she called him back.

"Herr Laurier, Herr Laurier! You won't
tell anybody," said she, gravely, "because it is
a secret."

"Oh, as to that, Mam'sell Katarina," returned
the courier with a queer glance over his shoulder
as he left the room, "make your mind easy."

But nevertheless he betook himself forthwith
to Caspar Ebner's private apartment, and
remained closeted with the landlord for some
time. Meanwhile, Kätchen sat by the stove in
the great bare billiard-room, enjoying the warmth
in a half-unconscious way. She had let the
hood—which she had drawn up on leaving the
little parlour—slip back from her head, and
every now and then she passed her hand softly
over the short silky hair, as though to assure
herself that the long luxuriant tresses were
really gone. She had sat musing and almost
dozing for nearly three-quarters of an hour,
when Laurier returned, and, walking straight
up to her, put a roll of very dirty Austrian
bank-notes into her hand.

"Oh, Herr Laurier," exclaimed Kätchen,
looking nervously at the little parcel, "is
this——?"

"Yes, mam'sell; the price of these," answered
Laurier, as he held out the long thick plaits of
hair at arm's length. "I have made an exact
calculation, and I find I can afford to give the
full price I named. There's eighty-five gulden
in that roll."

Kätchen's face beamed with joy, although
her eyes were brimming over with tears. She
caught Laurier's hand, and pressed it between
both hers. Suddenly a shadow passed over the
childlike joy which lit up her countenance.

"I hope," said she, anxiously "I do hope
you are not doing this merely out of kindness
and generosity. You won't be a loser by
your goodness, will you?"

"No, no, my little maiden," answered the
courier; "no fear of that. I am quite safe.
And listen, Kätchen; I beg you not to be
grateful to me in the matter; because—because
it hurts me. And now, child, I must see you
safely within your own home. It is pitch dark
outside, and I can't let you go alone."

But Kätchen protested she felt no fear, and
needed no escort, and, before Laurier could
remonstrate, she had pulled her hood over her
head, and run out of the room, and out of the
house, leaving him with the soft mass of glistening
yellow plaits in his hand.

The next day all Gossau was ringing with the
news that the officers of justice had been making
perquisitions in the Amsels' cottage up in the
pine-woods behind the village, and that old
Lotte, Heinrich Amsel's mother, had been
arrested. All sorts of stories were flying
about. Some said that a band of robbers had
been discovered, who had their head-quarters
at the saw-mills. Others declared that Heinrich
Amsel had singly performed exploits which surpassed
the most desperate deeds of Schinderhannes.
But, as the afternoon wore on, something
like a consistent story was currently
accepted. It was known that Liese, Kester's
servant, was in custody as well as the old
woman. Heinrich Amsel had disappeared from
Gossau, and gone no one knew whither; but
search was being diligently made for him. The
excitement was intense, and the Golden Lamb
once more became the focus of interest and
news. Again and again did Kester, speaking
as one who had private and mysterious means
of information, relate to eager listeners the
circumstantial evidence which appeared to inculpate
the Amsels. And, as the customers' thirst
for beer was in accurate proportion to the
keenness of their curiosity, the landlord of the
Golden Lamb was in a high state of fuss and
satisfaction. It was, perhaps, well for Kätchen
that his attention should have been thus occupied
just at this time, for it diverted his mind
from the consideration of what he termed her
undutiful behaviour. There had been a stormy
scene between father and daughter, when, at
last, Josef had discovered the fact of Kätchen's
shorn locks. He had gone into one of his
ungovernable fits of rage—which were, fortunately,
as brief as they were violent—and had stormed
incoherently for ten minutes. But then,
curiosity getting the better of anger, he had
insisted on learning the reason of this sacrifice
on Kätchen's part. When, after much hesitation
and with many tears and blushes, Kätchen
confessed that she had sold her beautiful hair in
order to help Fritz Rosenheim to make up the
value of the lost dressing-case, Josef Kester
was stricken dumb with amazement. He sank
down in the great chair, and stared at his
daughter for some minutes in profound silence.
At last, leaning his head back and folding his
arms with an air of superhuman calmness and
resignation, he said, slowly:

"No, no; I can't call it anything else but
madness. The girl's just mad with the spirit of
contradiction. It's like my luck. I oughtn't to be
surprised. There's not a man in all fatherland
who's had such troubles to bear as I have."

"Oh, father," murmured Kätchen, with tearful
eyes, "don't say so! I know I have often
been undutiful and self-willed, but I mean to
try to be better; and if you will only forgive me,
I will be a good child to you, indeed I will."