CHAPTER EIGHT.
THE "LITTLE FAT MAN." "Hullo! What fails with the well-born and most worthy lady, her to make in such pitiable plight ?" inquired Burgher Jans, poking his little round face into the parlour of the house in the Gulden Strasse, just as Lorischen, bending over her mistress, was endeavouring to raise her on to the sofa, where she would be better enabled to apply restoratives in order to bring her to.
The old nurse was glad of any assistance in the emergency; and, even the fat little Burgher, disliked as he was by her, as a rule, with an inveterate hatred, was better than nobody! "Madame has fainted," she said.

"Help me to lift her up, and I'll be obliged to you, worshipful Herr." "Yes, so, right gladly will I do it, dearest maiden," replied Burgher Jans politely, with his usual sweeping bow, taking off his hat and depositing it on an adjacent chair, while he lent a hand to raise the poor lady and place her on the couch.
This done, he espied the letter that had caused the commotion, which Madame Dort still held tightly clutched in her hand when she fell; and he tried to pull it away from her rigid fingers.

"Ha, what have we here ?" he said.
"You just leave that alone!" snapped out Lorischen.

"Pray take yourself off, with your wanting to spy into other people's business! If I were a man I'd be ashamed of being so curious, I would.

Burgher Jans, I'll thank you to withdraw; I wish to attend to my mistress." "I will obey your behests, dearest maiden," blandly replied the little man, taking his hat from the chair and backing towards the door, although casting the while most covetous eyes on the mysterious letter, which he would have cheerfully given a thaler to have been allowed to peruse.