Marie bent it and fastened it to the wall with a
string, so that its flowering top had to bend beneath the vaulted niche.
These quiet acts were her only joy, her only recreation. In work and
prayer she passed her days, and her fresh young cheeks began to pale.
Her father noticed the change, but without pity.
It was fortunate for her that his busy life took him away from home so
often.
Just at this time the people of Breisach desired a new altar for their
church. A proclamation was accordingly sent forth to all German artists
to compete, by submitting drawings and estimates for the work. To the
one who sent the best the contract would be given to carry out the
design.
Marie heard little about this, as she seldom came in contact with the
people. She lived lonely in her little home. It was now the fifth year
since Hans' departure, and long ago his letters had ceased to come,
because her father had forbidden any correspondence. Hans had no friends
in Breisach through whom he could communicate. But such uncertainty
gnaws. Marie was tired of waiting--very tired.
One afternoon she seated herself at her desk and started to write her
last wish. Her father was absent, and she was unwatched.
"When I die," she wrote, "I beg you to bury me yonder beside the
Cathedral wall, under the rose-bush which I planted in my childhood.
Should Hans Le Fevre ever return, I beg you--" she paused, for just then
a song, at first soft, then louder, greeted her ears.
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