"Four of the noble ladies live there. The princesses. The gracious sisters of Furst Hugo. There come two of them now."

A couple of lean, wrinkled women dressed in soiled merino gowns and huge black aprons, their hair bristling in curl papers, crossed the road, peering curiously at the strangers.

"They came to look at you, Fraulein," said the man, chuckling. "Strangers do not stop at Wolfburgh twice in the year."

"And what do the noble ladies do all the year?"

"Jean, Jean!" remonstrated Clara.

"Oh, Miss Vance! This is life and death to some of us! What do they do?"

"Do?" said the man, staring. "What shall any gracious lady do? They cook and brew, and crochet lace and----"

"Are there any more princesses--sisters of Furst Hugo?"