"I will return anon to inquire how the gracious lady is after her indisposition, and--" "If you are not out of the room before I count five," exclaimed the old nurse, angrily interrupting him, "I declare I'll pitch this footstool at your little round turnip-top of a head, that I will.

One--two--three--" "Why, whatever is the matter, Lorischen ?" interposed Madame Dort, opening her eyes at this juncture, while the old nurse yet stood with the footstool raised in her uplifted hands facing the door, half in and half out of which peered the tortoise-shell spectacles of the little fat burgher.

"Who is there ?" The poor lady spoke very faintly, and did not seem to know where she was at first, her gaze wandering round the room.
Lorischen quickly put down the heavy missile with which she was threatening Burgher Jans; and he, taking advantage of this suspension of hostilities, at once advanced again within the apartment, although still keeping his hand on the door so as to be ready to beat a retreat in a fresh emergency, should the old nurse attempt to renew the interrupted fray.
"High, well-born, and most gracious madame," said he obsequiously.

"It is me, only me!" "Hein!" grunted Lorischen.

"A nice `me' it is--a little, inquisitive, meddlesome morsel of a man!" "Oh, Meinherr Burgher Jans," said Madame Dort, rising up from the sofa.
"I'm glad to see you; I wanted to ask you something.