Countess Cordula von Montfort's room faced the east and looked out into the garden.

The sun of the June morning had just risen, filling it with cheerful light.
The invalid's maid had wished to deny Els admittance, but the countess called eagerly to her, and then ordered the windows to be opened, because she never felt comfortable unless it was light around her and she could breathe God's pure air.
The morning breeze bore the smoke which still rose from the fire in another direction, and thus a refreshing air really entered the room from the garden, for the thunderstorm had refreshed all nature, and flower beds and grass, bush and tree, exhaled a fresh odour of earth and leafage which it was a delight to breathe.
The leech Otto, to whom the severely wounded Ulrich Vorchtel had been carried, had just left the countess.

The burns on her hands and arms had been bandaged--nay, the old gentleman had cut out the scorched portions of her tresses with his own hand.

Cordula's energetic action had made the famous surgeon deem her worthy of such care.

He had also advised her to seek the nursing of the oldest daughter of her host, whose invalid wife he was attending, and she had gladly assented; for Els had attracted her from their first meeting, and she was accustomed to begin the day at sunrise.
"How does it happen that you neither weep nor even hang your head after all the sorrow which last night brought you ?" asked Cordula, as the Nuremberg maiden sat down beside her bed.