"'Anna Maria!' I cried, hastening over to her. She did not look at me, but pointed to Susanna, who had slipped, fainting, to the floor.
"'Her!' she said, lifelessly—' he lovesher!—both loveher! And I?' She passed her hands over her forehead. 'Nothing more, aunt, nothing more, in the great wide world; nothing more!'
"She bent down to the unconscious girl and raised her in her arms, and the beautiful head with the dark curls rested on her breast. Anna Maria looked for an instant at the pale, childish face, and then carried her over to her room and laid her on the bed.
"'Take care of Susanna,' said she to Isabella, who stood before the bed, wringing her hands. 'If it is necessary, send for the doctor.' She went past me out of the room; I hurried after her; what did I care for Susanna at this moment?
"'Anna Maria,' I begged, 'where are you going? Come into my room, speak out, have your cry out; do not stay alone, my poor, dear child!'
"She stood still. 'I do not know what I should have to speak about, aunt—and cry? I cannot cry. Don't worry about me; nothing pains me, nothing at all. I would like to be alone, I must think about myself. Do let me.'
"She went away with as firm a step as ever; she even turned down a smoking lamp in passing, and the sound of her deep, pleasant voice came up to me from the stairs as she spoke to Brockelmann; then I heard her steps die away in the hall.
"What sort of storm may have shaken her in her solitary room I know not. When, late in the evening, I listened at her door there was no sound of movement within; but that she watched through the saddest hours of her life in that night, her pale face, her sunken eyes, and the expression about the corners of her mouth told me the next day.
"Ah, and over it all lay, like a veil, that old coldness, and her fair head was poised just as obstinately as before, and her words had an imperious sound. Anna Maria was not desperate, Anna Maria had no passionate complaints to make. With her maidenly pride she had subdued the sick heart; no one saw, now, that it was mortally wounded. The pain within, the struggles, they wereheraffair. Who would dare even to touch that closed, strongly guarded door?
"And so the next morning she went up to the bed in Susanna's room, where the sobbing girl lay. Susanna had begun to cry on regaining consciousness the day before, and kept on crying, as if she would dissolve in tears. Isabella sat by the bed, with a red face; she had doubtless talked herself hoarse with consolatory arguments during the night; now she was silent and feigned ignorance of all that had passed. 'I don't know, Fräulein Anna Maria,' she whispered, 'what is the matter with Susanna—these unfortunate nerves; I don't understand it!' She looked very much cast down, the little yellow woman.
"'Susanna,' said Anna Maria, clearly and severely, 'stop crying, and tell me the cause of your trouble; perhaps I can help you.'
"'Oh, heavens! no, no!' screamed Isa, vehemently, pressing close up to Anna Maria. 'She is so excited; don't listen to her words, she doesn't know what she is saying!'
"But Susanna made no answer; she stopped sobbing, turned her head away from Anna Maria, and lay still as a mouse; but in the quick rising and falling of her bosom one could see how excited she was.
"'Be calm, Susanna,' repeated Anna Maria; 'and where you are, I have to speak with you concerning the explanation of a great mistake.'
"She turned quietly from the invalid, and observing the glasses beside the bed, asked Isabella if Susanna liked lemonade, and went away. She had given me only a hasty greeting; now she came back, and we stood together in the hall, and I held her hand in mine.
"That words of consolation were not to be thought of in dealing with a nature like Anna Maria's, I knew well; yet I could not help tears coming into my eyes as I looked at her. She looked at me for a moment, her face quivered as with a passionate pain, and the sobbing sound came from her breast. But she composed herself by an effort, and pointing to Susanna's door, said: 'There is the worst thing—my poor Klaus!' She pressed my hand, and then went about her household duties as usual. It is not every one that would have done as she did!
"When I entered Susanna's room again I found her sitting up in bed, wringing her clasped hands. 'Nobody has askedmeabout it!' she repeated, amid streaming tears; 'my wish is of no account; they have pushed me away where they wanted me to go! And now, now—' She murmured something to herself, which I did not understand, and stopped weeping, only to begin anew with the passionate cry: 'No one loves me, no one!'
"'Do not listen to her,' Isabella implored me; 'she really does not know what she is doing; leave me alone with her! 'The little creature was in a thousand terrors. She ran from the bed to the window, and then back to the bed; she called the weeping girl all sorts of pet names, she besought her by heaven and earth to be quiet—it was in vain. Susanna wept herself into a state of agitation that made us fear the worst; she struck at Isa, and then wrung her hands again, like a person in perfect desperation. I stood by, helpless; as long as the girl was in this state of excitement I could not step up to her, and say: 'Susanna, what have you done? You have given your word to a man of honor, and you love another! You have made mischief in the house which was so hospitably opened to you; you have made three human hearts miserable! Is that your gratitude for all this kindness?'
"And then her cry, 'No one asked me; they pushed me away where they wanted me to be, and I had not the power to defend myself!' sank deeply into my heart, and my thoughts went back to that evening when she had run away in the storm and rain, and how Klaus had brought her back, and called her 'his!' Had he asked if she loved him? No; he had not even thought of the possibility that such might not be the case; he had gone away with firm confidence in her love. And then Anna Maria had pressed her to her heart one day, and called her 'sister,' and Klaus had come, and had put the engagement ring on her hand. She had not dared to send him away, and had gone on, in her light manner, trifling with that engagement ring, while becoming deeper and deeper involved in the passion for another. Her lover was away, he did not hear her. Now Stürmer was going into the wide world, a fresh thorn in her heart. Susanna was shaken out of her dreams, and near despair. And Anna Maria, and Klaus—what was to become of them?
"Then Brockelmann brought me a letter from Stürmer. I went into my room and read it; it was written from Dambitz, and ran as follows:
"'Honored Fräulein:—I do not like to go away from you without a word of explanation, or without thanking you for your letter, which kept me from taking a step which would have been painfully hard for me in more than one respect. You have, with delicate tact indeed, rightly discerned that Susanna Mattoni is not an object of indifference to me, and you wanted to save me from a disappointment. My dear Fräulein Rosamond, why should I deny it? I love Susanna very much, and I intended yesterday to beg for your mediation in my suit. Ihadto suppose that she returned my love."'I have no luck in your house—a second time I have been bitterly undeceived. Now I have come to consider myself one of the most arrogant men the world contains. Anna Maria does not love me. I required years to get over that first disappointment; it was not easy, for I believed myself perfectly sure of her reciprocal love. Well, I succeeded at last; I will even assert that Anna Maria was right. We were ill-suited to each other; perhaps she would have been unhappy with a man of such entirely different inclinations. Then I see Susanna and—love the betrothed of my best friend!"'What remains to me? Again I turn my back on my home and seek to forget."'In Bütze everything will remain as of old, and I—go. But I do not like to leave you, who have suspected it, in darkness. Pardon me if have caused you anxiety; I did so unconsciously. Think of me kindly! When I come home again some day, Susanna will be the wife of my friend, and I—a calm man, who will have forgotten all the dreams of youth. I kiss your dear hands, and beg you to let what I have said here remain our secret. Susanna will be most likely of all to suspect why I went—she will secretly mourn for me, but only soon to forget me in her young happiness."'Farewell, with most heartfelt respect,"'Your most devoted"'Edwin von Stürmer.'
"'Honored Fräulein:—I do not like to go away from you without a word of explanation, or without thanking you for your letter, which kept me from taking a step which would have been painfully hard for me in more than one respect. You have, with delicate tact indeed, rightly discerned that Susanna Mattoni is not an object of indifference to me, and you wanted to save me from a disappointment. My dear Fräulein Rosamond, why should I deny it? I love Susanna very much, and I intended yesterday to beg for your mediation in my suit. Ihadto suppose that she returned my love.
"'I have no luck in your house—a second time I have been bitterly undeceived. Now I have come to consider myself one of the most arrogant men the world contains. Anna Maria does not love me. I required years to get over that first disappointment; it was not easy, for I believed myself perfectly sure of her reciprocal love. Well, I succeeded at last; I will even assert that Anna Maria was right. We were ill-suited to each other; perhaps she would have been unhappy with a man of such entirely different inclinations. Then I see Susanna and—love the betrothed of my best friend!
"'What remains to me? Again I turn my back on my home and seek to forget.
"'In Bütze everything will remain as of old, and I—go. But I do not like to leave you, who have suspected it, in darkness. Pardon me if have caused you anxiety; I did so unconsciously. Think of me kindly! When I come home again some day, Susanna will be the wife of my friend, and I—a calm man, who will have forgotten all the dreams of youth. I kiss your dear hands, and beg you to let what I have said here remain our secret. Susanna will be most likely of all to suspect why I went—she will secretly mourn for me, but only soon to forget me in her young happiness.
"'Farewell, with most heartfelt respect,
"'Your most devoted
"'Edwin von Stürmer.'
"The sheet trembled in my hands, and every instant tears hindered my reading.
"About half-past three in the afternoon Pastor Grüne came with his sister to offer congratulations on the engagement. Ah, me! yes, yesterday the appointment for publishing the banns was made. Anna Maria and I sat in painful embarrassment, receiving the hearty congratulations of the two old friends. They inquired for the young bride-elect, and the pastor praised her beauty and her happy, child-like nature. When he saw Anna Maria's pale face, he took her hand:
"'My dear child,' said he, kindly and earnestly, 'marriages are made in Heaven. God leads the hearts together, and when they have found each other no human being may disturb them. So few marriages are made to-day out of true, unselfish love that it ought to be a real joy for every one who experiences it, to see a couple go before the altar who are restrained by no earthly consideration from belonging to each other in true love. God's blessing be upon Klaus von Hegewitz and his bride!' He was much moved, the old man who had held Klaus and Anna Maria over the font, but in surprise he let the girl's hand drop, with a look of disapprobation at the cold, unsympathetic face. She did not answer a syllable.
"My old friend had, a little while before, drawn a sheet of paper from her knitting-bag and put it in my hand. I first glanced at it now; it was the printed notice of the engagement of Klaus and Susanna. 'We received it this morning,' she nodded, 'but I saw it yesterday at Frau von R——'s at Oesfeld; I was there to coffee. You ought to have been there, Rosamond, to see how the ladies contended for that little sheet.'
"I looked in alarm at Anna Maria, who blushed suddenly and then grew pale again. Now the engagement was in everybody's mouth, and up-stairs lay the bride-elect, wringing her hands and weeping for another! Of what importance was Anna Maria's own sorrow in the face of that which threatened Klaus? She seized the sheet, and after the first glance pushed it from her in abhorrence. It was a most painful quarter of an hour, and many, many such followed that day.
"The news of Klaus's engagement had spread with lightning speed. Visitor after visitor came; it seemed as if the whole neighborhood wished to make our house a rendezvous. Carriage after carriage drove into the court; people whom we had not seen for years came to offer congratulations on the happy event. Anna Maria sat like a statue among the questioning, chattering people, and with trembling hands and ashen face Brockelmann offered refreshments. The faithful old soul felt with us the pain that every question gave; only by an effort could she suppress her tears, and as she passed me she said, in a hasty whisper: 'I truly believe the end of the world is coming!'
"Anna Maria had, nevertheless, forced a smile. She said that she was sorry not to be able to present Susanna, but the young girl had been suddenly taken ill; it was to be hoped it was nothing serious.
"'But now do tell us how it came about. When did he become acquainted with her? From what sort of a family does she come?' asked the elder ladies.
"'Is she pretty, Fräulein Rosamond? Ah, do describe Klaus von Hegewitz'sfiancéeto us; she must be something remarkable!' the young girls teased me.
"And beneath all these curious, interested questions there lurked something which could not be defined and which seemed like a very slight sort of surprise, and I heard Frau von B—— whisper to the wife of Counsellor S——: 'The sister doesn't seem exactly enchanted?' and she was answered: 'No, her rule is at an end now; until now she has just had the good Klaus under her thumb.'
"Poor Anna Maria! she answered all the questions so mechanically. She told them that Susanna was very beautiful; she said that the girl's father had been a most fatherly friend to her brother—but the way she did it was strangely stiff and uncomfortable. They looked at her in surprise and interchanged glances.
"Meanwhile the brisk housemaid brought the lamps and lighted the candles on the old chandelier of antlers, and the outside blinds were closed with a creak. Some of the guests rose; the ladies looked about for their fur cloaks, the gentlemen took up their hats. I thanked God, for Anna Maria's appearance frightened me. Then something unexpected happened, something which caused me to drop back into my chair, quite disconcerted. Brockelmann had suddenly opened the door, and there stood one whom I had certainly not expected to see at that moment—Susanna! Isabella's small figure was seen for an instant in the background, then the door closed again.
"A pause ensued, all eyes being directed toward the young girl. She was really embarrassed for a moment, and this gave her beauty an additional bewitching charm. Like a shy, confused child she stood there, in the little black lace-trimmed dress, which so peculiarly suited her, her head somewhat bent, and the blush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
"It was an infinitely painful moment, for Anna Maria did not take a step toward her. I saw how Susanna's beseeching eyes turned away at her fixed look, which seemed to ask: 'What right have you to be here?' and here her lips were firmly closed. It was only one moment; the next I was standing by Susanna and introducing her as Fräulein Mattoni, and therewith the ice was broken. They crowded about her, shook hands with her, and devoured her with admiring eyes. Her cheeks grew crimson, her eyes shone, and not a trace of the morning's tears remained; the mouth which had poured forth such fearful laments now smiled like a child's, and Anna Maria stood alone yonder. God knows what pain she must have felt!
"The guests sat down for another minute, out of respect to Susanna, and after the storm of customary formalities had subsided, they spoke of country life, wondering if a city girl could accustom herself to it. They asked Susanna how the Mark pleased her, and at last the old wife of General S——, whose estate touched Dambitz on the south, remarked: 'Tell me, Fräulein von Hegewitz, is it true that Stürmer is going away on a journey again?'
"She had turned to Anna Maria, who was sitting bolt upright beside her, and whose color now suddenly changed. 'He is on his way to Paris, your excellency,' she replied.
"'The butterfly!' joked the amiable old lady. 'I did hope that he would settle down here with us, but he seems to prefer the unfettered life of a bachelor. To Paris, then?'
"'Well, Paris is not a bad place for a man of Stürmer's stamp,' said Captain von T——, smiling, who was known as a pleasure-loving man. 'Any one who can avoid it would be a fool to bury himself in this old sand-box and theennuiof the Mark.'
"Anna Maria looked into space again. Susanna's eyes sparkled at these words; she seemed to be considering something, and then she laughed. Was this the same Susanna whom I had seen afflicted to death this morning, who was now sitting, in all the bliss of a happy bride, among these people, and turning red with pleasure at each admiring look? Oh, never in my life was there so long a half-hour as this!
"And now, at last, the guests rose and took their departure. Susanna was commissioned on all sides with greetings and congratulations for Klaus, and she thanked them with her most charming smile and a beaming look from her great eyes.
"'By Heaven, Fräulein,' said the captain to me, twirling his mustache, 'your future niece is the prettiest girl I ever saw, a pearl in any society. I hope the young ladies will not disdain our winter balls?' He turned to Susanna with this request: 'The place is not very comfortable, but the society—' He kissed the tips of his fingers, murmuring something about the crown of all ladies, and Susanna laughed and promised to come, 'because she was so fond of dancing.'
"And by the time the last of the guests were in their carriage Susanna had made at least a dozen promises which all had reference to a pleasant, lively intercourse. We accompanied the guests to the steps; in the confusion of parting words Susanna must have taken herself off, for when the last carriage rolled away I was standing alone beside Anna Maria in the dimly lighted hall.
"'Come, my child,' said I, taking her cold hands and drawing her into the room. And then she sat in Klaus's chair for perhaps a quarter of an hour, without speaking a word, her hands folded on the table, her eyes cast down. The clock ticked lightly, the wind rustled through the tall trees out-of-doors, and now and then a candle sputtered; it began to seem almost uncanny to me, sitting there opposite the silent girl.
"'Anna Maria!' I cried at last.
"She started up. 'Yes, come,' she said, 'We will ask her! Rather the shrugs of those people than a misery here in the house. I would rather see Klaus unhappy for a time than deceived all his life long. Come, aunt.' And with firm step she went out of the room, along the corridor, and up the stairs.
"I followed her as quickly as I could; my heart beat fast with anxiety and grief. 'Anna Maria,' I begged, 'not to-day, not now. Come into my room, you are too excited.' But she walked on. Up-stairs, in front of Susanna's door, I perceived by the light of the hall lamp a great flat chest; white tissue-paper showed under the lid, which had not been tightly closed.
"'What is that?' Anna Maria asked Brockelmann, who was just coming out of the room.
"'The chest came from Berlin to-day,' the old woman replied; 'I suppose from the master.'
"Anna Maria nodded and opened the door quickly. A flood of light streamed out toward us, and surrounded the slender white figure before the large mirror; soft creamy satin fell in heavy folds about her, and lay in a long train on the floor; a gauzy veil lay, like a mist, over the nearest arm-chair, and a pair of small white shoes peeped out from their wrapper on the table. She turned around at our entrance, and stood there with a shamefaced smile—Susanna Mattoni was trying on her wedding-dress.
"Anna Maria let go of the door-handle and stepped over the threshold, looking fixedly at Susanna, her face crimson.
"'Take off that dress!' she commanded, in a voice scarcely audible from excitement.
"Susanna drew back in alarm, and turning pale looked up at Anna Maria.
"'Take off that dress!' she repeated, in increasing agitation; 'you are not worthy to wear it. So help me God, this wretched comedy shall come to an end!'
"'Anna Maria,' I begged, full of fear, catching hold of the folds of her dress, 'keep calm! For God's sake, stop!' But she paid no attention to me; the girl, usually so cool and collected, was beside herself with pain and anger. Herownsuffering she had borne in silence; but the thought of Klaus, the conviction that he was deceived where he had completely surrendered his kind, honest heart, robbed her of all consideration and self-control.
"Susanna stood speechless opposite her, an expression of penitence on her childish face. She was incapable of a defence, of an apology. Then, as ill-luck would have it, the old woman stepped between them, with a theatrical gesture placing herself in front of Susanna.
"'Do not forget that you are standing before your brother's betrothed,' she said, with a tone and a gesture which would have been ludicrous at any other time.
"Anna Maria contemptuously pushed the small figure aside like an inanimate object, and laid her hand heavily on the girl's shoulder. 'Speak,' she said, with a wearily forced composure; 'do you not feel what you are on the point of doing? Are you then still so young, still so spoiled, that you have entirely lost the sense of honor and duty? Is this wretched comedy your gratitude for all that this house has given you?'
"Susanna tried to shake off her hand.
"'I do not know what you mean!' she cried, in anxious defiance; 'I have done nothing wrong!'
"Anna Maria stared at her as if she could not grasp the words. There was a pause of breathless silence in the room; then the storm broke loose, and the proud girl's wrath carried her away like a whirlwind.
"'You have done nothing wrong?' she blazed forth. 'You have done nothing wrong, and you are on the point of deceiving the best of men; you are ready to perjure yourself? Your eyes have looked after another, and wept for another. I tell you, so long as I have power to move my tongue, I will not cease to accuse you before my brother! He shall not fall a victim to you!' And she shook the girl violently for a moment; then, recollecting herself, she pushed back the delicate form. The girl fell staggering to the floor, and struck her head heavily against a carved chair-back.
"It was a fearful moment; Susanna had cried out in pain as she fell, and Isa now held her in her arms and wailed. The girl's eyes were closed, but a narrow red stream was trickling down from her temple, staining the white lace of the bridal dress. A sort of numbness had come over us; even Isa grew silent, and with trembling hands dried the blood on Susanna's cheek.
"Anna Maria looked absently at the swooning girl; then suddenly, recollecting herself, she threw her hands over her face, and hastily turning around, left the room. I helped Isabella carry Susanna to the bed, and take off the unfortunate dress. It is still hanging in the wardrobe over there, just as we hung it up at that time, with the blood-stains on the white lace frill. Isa did not speak; she did all in a tearless rage. Now and then she kissed the girl's small hands, and dried the tears that were trickling, slowly and quietly, from under the dark lashes, over the young face.
"I did not speak either; what would there have been to say? I went away to look for Anna Maria as soon as I saw that Susanna was coming to herself, and left it to Isa to put the compresses on the wounded temple.
"I found Anna Maria in the sitting-room, in her chair, with her spinning-wheel before her, as on every evening, but her hands lay wearily in her lap, and her eyes were cast down. As I came nearer she started up and began to spin; her foot rested heavily on the frail treadle, her hands trembled nervously as they drew the threads, and her face was fearfully white and her lips tightly closed, as if no friendly word were ever to pass them again in the course of her life.
"'Anna Maria,' said I, stopping in front of her, 'what now?'
"She did not answer.
"'You have let yourself be carried away,' I continued. 'How will it be now between you and Klaus?'
"Again she made no reply, but the treadle of the spinning-wheel broke in two with a snap; she sprang up, and pushed back the stretchers. 'Leave me, leave me,' she begged, putting her hand to her forehead.
"'Write to Klaus; tell him he must come,' I advised. She sat down again, and leaned her head on her hand. 'I will bring you paper and ink, Anna Maria, or shall I write?'
"She shook her head. 'Do not torment me,' she wailed; 'I no longer know if I am in my senses; leave me alone!'
"I still lingered; she looked fearfully. Her face was so pale and distorted one could scarcely recognize the blooming, girlish countenance. 'Go,' she begged; it is the only thing that you can do for me.'
"I went; no doubt she was right. In such an hour it is torment even to breathe in the sight of others. But why did she not fly to her room? I turned around once more at the stairs; I wanted to ask her to drink a glass of lemonade, and go to bed. The sitting-room was dark, but through the crack of the door which led to Klaus's room came a ray of candle-light; she was in there.
"Two days had passed since that evening, and Anna Maria continued to go about without speaking. At dinner she had sat at the table, but had eaten nothing, and she wandered about for hours through the garden, in rain and storm. Brockelmann insisted upon it, with tears, that I ought to send for the doctor, for her young lady was bent upon doing something which, she thought, pointed to the beginning of a disease of the mind. Anna Maria was no longer like herself. Did she rue her violence, or did she fear seeing Klaus again? I knew not. She had not written to him. I intended to do so in the beginning, but then gave it up; hemustcome, and the more time that elapsed, the calmer our hearts would be.
"Susanna sat by the window up-stairs, in her room, a white cloth bound about her forehead, and her eyes, weary and red with weeping, looked out upon the leafless garden. I had been to her room several times to speak with her as forbearingly as possible. I wished to set before her her own wrong, to tell her that a warm, almost idolatrous love for Klaus, and the fear that he might not be happy, had driven Anna Maria to an extreme. But here, too, I met with silent, obstinate resistance—that is, I received no answer, only that Isabella said to me, with a sparkle in her black eyes: 'She has been abused, and she has been pushed, my poor child!' Whether or not Susanna had written to Klaus I did not learn."
"It was almost evening, on the 13th of November, as an extra post drove quickly into the court. 'Another visit!' was my first thought, so many people had been turned away in those days. 'You will fare no better,' thought I; 'you will soon turn around and drive home.' But, no, the carriage stopped, and a gentleman swung himself out. My heart stood still from fear—Klaus! How came Klaus to-day?
"Should I hurry out to meet him? Prevent him from meeting Anna Maria? Prepare him, forbearingly? But how? Could I speak of the conflict without mortally wounding him? It was too late already; I heard his step on the stairs; he was going up to Susanna first of all; he had probably been told that she was up-stairs. I stepped into the hall quite unconsciously, and at the same time Susanna's door opened, her light figure appeared on the threshold, then she flew toward the man who was standing there with outstretched arms. 'Klaus, Klaus! my dear Klaus!' sounded in my ear, tender and exultant with joy. Oh, Anna Maria, if you were to speak to him with the tongue of an angel it would avail you nothing; it is too late!
"I saw Klaus press the slender figure to him, and saw her throw her arms about his neck, and again and again put up her lips to be kissed; and I heard her begin to sob, first gently, then more vehemently, and cry: 'Now all is well, all, now that you are here!' And she clung to him like a hunted deer.
"I stepped back softly; I still saw how Susanna drew him into her room, caressing him, and heard his deep, passionate voice; then the door was closed behind them. 'Caught!' said I, softly, 'caught, like Tannhäuser of old in the Hörfelsberg!' And bitter tears ran from my old eyes as I went down-stairs to go to Anna Maria.
"Brockelmann came toward me in consternation. 'The master is here,' she called to me, 'but Anna Maria will not believe it.' I went into her room without knocking; she was sitting on the little sofa, her New Testament before her on the table. In the dying daylight her great blue eyes looked forth almost weirdly from the face worn with grief.
"'Klaus has come, my child,' I said, going up to her.
"She looked at me incredulously.
"'I have seen him, Anna Maria; it is true.'
"'Where is he, then?' she asked. 'Why does he not come to me?'
"'My dear child'—I took her hand—'Klaus is with Susanna.'
"She let her head drop. 'But then he will come,' she said; 'he must come, of course! He will want something to eat, and he will want to scold me. I wish he would tell me how bad I am, how unjustly I have acted, so that I might tell him everything, everything that lies so heavily on my heart. Perhaps, perhaps my voice may penetrate him once more, when he thinks of all that we have lived through in common, when he thinks how I love him!'
"I pressed her hand and sat down silently beside her; that sweet, clear 'Klaus, Klaus! my dear Klaus!' still rang in my ears, and then the sobbing. And now, if he should hear from her own lips why she wept? If he should lift the white cloth from her brow? The calmest man would become a tiger, and he was not calm, any more than Anna Maria—God help them! I trembled at the thought of those two standing face to face.
"And the darkness fell and concealed the objects in the room; before the windows the branches of the old elms swayed, ghost-like, in the wind, ever bending toward us, as if beckoning with their lean arms. And Anna Maria waited! At every sound in the house she started up—I thought I heard her heart beat—and each time she was deceived.
"At last, at last! That was his step on the stairs! She rose, all at once, to her full, proud height. 'Klaus,' she said, 'my brother Klaus!'—as if she must be encouraged in mentioning the entire, intimate, sacred relation in which they stand to each other—'my only brother!' In these few words lay the destiny of her whole life.
"The sound of Klaus's voice came in to us; it sounded as if he were giving various orders; now it came nearer in the hall, then the steps retreated, and at last reëchoed the creaking of the front door.
"'He is going!' shrieked Anna Maria, 'he is going, and I have not seen him, and he has not asked for me!'
"'No, no, my child,' I sought to calm her, 'he is not going away, he cannot go; whither should he? Only be calm; he wants to speak to the bailiff, or to see about his baggage. Let me go, I will find out; and you—come, sit down quietly in your place. I will bring Klaus to you, I promise you.'
"It was an easy thing for me to lead her back from the door and push her to the sofa; the tall, strong girl seemed stunned by anxiety and weariness.
"I kissed her forehead and hurried out; Brockelmann was in the hall, coming toward me with rapid steps. She looked heated, and her white cap was all awry on her gray hair. She carried a lighted candle in one hand, and with the other quickly unfastened her great bunch of keys from her belt. The housemaid followed her with a basket of fire-wood.
"'Great heavens, gracious Fräulein,' said the old woman, when I asked, in surprise, the meaning of her haste; 'if I knew myself! The hall is to be heated and lighted; in an hour everything must be ready, and the dust-covers haven't been taken off for a whole year in there. I think the master has lost his head!' And with trembling hands she unlocked the folding-doors which led to the two rooms which, under the names of the 'Hall' and the 'Red Room,' had been, from my earliest youth, opened only on particularly important occasions. Here was formerly assembled, several times a year, a very aristocratic company, who, after a fine, stiff dinner-party, would close the evening with a dance; here had been held, for generations, the christening and wedding feasts of the Hegewitzes; here, too, had many a coffin stood, before it was carried out to the vault in the garden below.
"What did Klaus mean to do to-day? Involuntarily I followed Brockelmann into the hall; the candle lighted the great room but faintly; its feeble light made here and there a prismatic drop among the pendants of the crystal chandelier sparkle, and the gray-covered pieces of furniture stood about like ghosts. The old woman began to arrange things in the greatest haste, and under the hands of the maid the first feeble flame was soon flickering up in the fire-place. I beheld it as in a dream.
"'What, for God's sake, does this mean?' I asked again, oppressed.
"Brockelmann did not reply at once; she wanted to spread out the rug in front of the great sofa. 'Go, Sophie, the fire is burning now; Christopher may come in a quarter of an hour to light the candles.—They will surely last,' she added, with a glance at the half-burned candles in the chandelier and sconces.
"The girl went; the old woman stopped taking off the dust-covers. 'One experiences a great deal when one is old and gray, and nowhere are there stranger goings on than in this world!' said she, excitedly; 'but that anything like this should happen! Do you know, Fräulein, where he has gone, the master, without even having said "Good-day" to his sister? To Pastor Grüne. And there up-stairs sits the old Isa, and has cut bare the little myrtle-tree which you gave to the—the strange young lady, so that it looks like a rod to beat naughty children with. And the young thing lies on the sofa, playing with her cat, and laughs out of her red eyes, and she laughs with all her white teeth, because things have gone so far at last. Gracious Fräulein, they have wept and lamented. If the master has lost his reason, I can understand it. Not an hour longer will they stay here in the house, the little one cried, where they were trodden under foot and scolded. And when the master sent for me he was holding her in his arms, and looked as pale as the plaster on the walls. I must put things in order here as well as possible, said he, but quickly—in an hour, Fräulein; there will be no more disturbance to be made about it. And though the king himself were to come, in an hour they will be man and wife.'
"'Is it possible?' I stammered. 'Anna Maria—' My head whirled about like a mill-wheel. It was decided, then; Susanna was to be his wife!
"Klaus had been stirred up to the utmost extent; that his hasty decision proved. Of what use would it be if I were to go now to Anna Maria and say: 'Compose yourself, it is not to be altered now!' In her present state of mind she would throw herself at his feet and accuse Susanna, though he were already standing with her before the priest. In his passion for this girl he would believe nothing of all this; he would require proofs. And proofs? Who would accuse her of infidelity? How couldshehelp it that Stürmer loved her? That she had wept and wrung her hands, was that anything positive? That Stürmer fancied himself loved by her, could that be made out a crime on her part? It would have been madness to excite Klaus further, to say to him now: 'Leave her; she will not make you happy.'
"With fixed gaze I followed the old woman about, and in restless anxiety saw her begin to light the candles beside the great mirror; their light was reflected from the polished glass and fell sparkling on the gilt frames of the family portraits; deep crimson color shone from the curtains and furniture, and a warm breath now came from the fire through the chilly air. Was it a reality?
"Then I started up. Anna Maria was still sitting alone and waiting; my place was withher. I found her in the dark, still in the same spot, and sat down beside her.
"'He has gone away,' she asked, 'has he not?'
"'No,' said I, 'he is coming back directly.'
"'To me?'
"'I do not know, my child.'
"'What is that loud slamming of doors?' she asked after a while. 'And why do I sit here so cowardly, as if I had something to fear, when I have done nothing wrong? I need not wait for him to come to me; I can go to him first.'
"And she stood up again. With firm step she went to the door, but before she could put her hand on the latch the door opened, and Pastor Grüne, in full official robes, crossed the threshold.
"Involuntarily the girl drew back at this unexpected appearance. The old man was plainly embarrassed. After a moment's hesitation, he went up to Anna Maria and took her hands. 'I come, commissioned by your brother,' he began. 'He wishes, through me, to put a request most fervently to your heart. Herr von Hegewitz intends, for reasons which he has not shared further with me, to consummate his marriage with Fräulein Mattoni to-day.'
"Anna Maria's pale face turned crimson. 'It is impossible!' she said, in a lifeless tone; 'it is not true!'
"'But, my dear child,' the old gentleman went on, laying his hands kindly on the girl's shoulders, 'look at me. I stand all ready in official robes to perform the solemn act. But first your brother would have peace made with his sister; he would not take this step until she, to whom he has been hitherto so closely bound in fraternal love, has again extended her hand to him in reconciliation.'
"'I am not angry with my brother,' came the denial.
"'Not with him, perhaps, but with her who in a short time will be his wife. His heart is heavily oppressed by this situation, and he begs you earnestly to speak a single word to his bride.'
"Anna Maria suddenly shook off his hand. 'I am to beg her pardon?' she cried, raising herself to her full height, her eyes flaming—'I beg Susanna Mattoni's pardon? Has Klaus gone mad, to think that I will humble myself before that girl? Go, Herr Pastor, tell him he must come himself to speak with me. I will fall at my brother's feet if I have grieved him, but I will also tell him what drove me to push the girl from me, and—go bring him before it is too late, or I——'
"'Anna Maria,' the old man broke in, raising his voice, 'cease from this defiance! Judge not, that ye be not judged, says the Scripture! You have no right to press yourself between these two; you have been prejudiced against your brother's bride from the first moment, you have judged her childish faults too harshly. Do you think by complaint to tear a man's love from his heart? Foolish child! then you do not know what love is, which forgives everything, overlooks everything. Stop, control yourself! Anna Maria, you have an uncommonly strong will, a courageous heart; do not wholly imbitter the solemn hour for your only brother; it lacks already the consecration of a festal feeling. Your brother tells me he means to go away this evening with his young wife. Come, my child, follow your old teacher and pastor once more; come!'
"She drew back a few steps. 'Never!' said she, gently but firmly.
"'Anna Maria, not so, not so; bitter regrets may follow,' he said, appeasingly.
"'Never!' she repeated. 'I cannot go against my conscience; I should be ashamed to stand at the altar and listen to a lie! I had placed my entire hope on speaking to Klaus, on begging him to leave her. He does not wish to see me, or he would have come. I cannot do what he wishes; believe me, I have my reasons. Farewell, Herr Pastor!'
"She turned and went to the window, and pressing her head against the panes, looked out on the sinking darkness of the November evening. She was apparently calm, and yet her whole body shook.
"Meanwhile a familiar step was heard outside, pacing up and down. I stepped out. 'Klaus,' I begged, looking in his pale, excited face, 'why this terrible haste?'
"'How am I to do it, then?' he cried, impatiently. 'I cannot stay here, I am still needed in Silesia, so I must take Susanna away; what else can be done? Do you think I will expose her to this treatment any longer? By Heaven, aunt, when the girl's desperate letter came, it was fortunate that I could not come here on wings, that the vexations of the journey, and in M—— the procuring of the marriage license, detained me, or I should not have been able to control myself. Anna Maria is a stubborn thing; she has no heart or feelings, or she would at least be ready now to hold out her hand to Susanna and me.'
"'Anna Maria loves you more than you think,' said I, grieved, 'and if she was angry with your bride, she had sufficient cause.'
"He stood still, white as chalk. 'Aunt,' he implored me, with a wearily maintained composure, 'do not completely spoil this hour for me. Susanna has told me everything, and Anna Maria, in her views of united prudery and onesidedness, has regarded as a deadly sin what was an innocent, perfectly innocent act on Susanna's part.'
"At this moment Pastor Grüne came out of Anna Maria's room—alone. I shall never forget the sad look with which Klaus met the eyes of the old man.
"So we three stood there; Klaus was just taking a step toward the door when in the same instant Isa stood beside him, as if charmed hither. She already had on her black silk dress, and her withered face shone with joy and triumph.
"'Susanna is waiting, sir,' she whispered.
"'I am coming,' he replied, and turning around he said to me: 'It is better for me not to see her. I knowher, I know myself, and I wish to remain calm.'
"Indeed it was better! God knows what would have happened if they had met. I promised to be present at the marriage ceremony, but first I went again to Anna Maria. She was still standing at the window, and did not turn on my entrance.
"'Anna Maria,' said I, 'I will come back soon; you shall not remain alone long.'
"Then she suddenly slipped to the floor, and buried her head in her mother's old arm-chair. 'Alone!' she cried, 'alone, forever, forever!'
"A few minutes later I was on my way to the hall. Several lamps had been lighted in the corridor, and the servants, with curious, pleased faces, were pressing before the open door. The report that the master was to be married to-day had, with lightning speed, reached even to the village. Right in front by the door stood Marieken, looking anxiously into the lighted room, in which Brockelmann was still busy, helping the sacristan arrange the improvised altar. She put another pair of cushions before the table, covered with a white damask cloth into which the crest was woven, and set the heavy silver candlesticks straight.
"Pastor Grüne stood waiting at the back of the room. He came toward me with an inquiring look.
"I shook my head. 'She is not coming!'
"'It is bad,' said he, 'when a good kernel is covered by such a prickly shell. Anna Maria lacks humility and gentle love; she has no woman's heart.'
"'You are mistaken in the girl!' I cried, imbittered, with tears in my eyes. 'She is better than all the rest of us put together!'
"'And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,' said he, impressively, 'and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.'
"My poor, proud, honest Anna Maria! If they only knew what I know, if they could only see right into your heart! thought I, and bitterly my eyes fell on the ravishing, lovely creature, now crossing the threshold on Klaus's arm. She did not wear the unfortunate white dress; she was in that little black lace-trimmed dress which she had worn the first time Klaus saw her, nothing but the myrtle-wreath adorned with white flowers in her hair to remind one of a bride. But if ever Susanna understood how to make her external appearance effective, it was now, as she came, without ornament or parade, to the altar. It was no wonder that Klaus did not turn his eyes away from her, that he pressed the delicate arm so closely to him, that he dismissed as groundless chattering what people might say about this pure, childish brow.
"And then the low whispering stopped; Pastor Grüne was beginning to speak.
"If I could only tell now how he opened his address! The words went in at one ear and out at the other; I saw only Klaus, his handsome face, so proud, so penetrated with kind, honest sentiment, with a glimmer of tender emotion over it; and I thought of Anna Maria lying over there on the floor, in pain and fear. Then I saw Klaus make a quick, convulsive motion, and now every word went to my heart:
"'It was on this spot that you once stood by the coffin of your dead mother, holding in your arms a dear legacy, promising with hand and heart to take care of the child and protect her in all the vicissitudes of life. And the way you did this, it was a joy for God and man to see! There is no more intimate bond than that which united the orphaned brother and sister; and let not this bond be broken, let not the knot be untied by the coming of a third person! The wife'—he turned to Susanna—'must be a peacemaker; she must strive that unity may dwell under her husband's roof; that she may be to him a blessing and not a curse! A love between brother and sister is not less holy than between married people. There are old, sacred claims which brother and sister have upon one another, and therefore, young bride, let your first word in your new life be a word of peace; take your husband's hand and join it in reconciliation with that other which is not folded here in this place with us to pray for you. Do not leave this house without a word of peace, even if you think injustice has been done you in this hour which gives you, the homeless orphan, a home and a protector. Be gentle and ready for peace; ask yourself how great a share in the burden you bear.'
"A few shining drops ran down the cheeks of the bridegroom, while Susanna, like a child, listened with wide-open eyes to the clergyman's words, evidently painfully affected by the seriousness which he imparted to the situation.
"Then the affair came quickly to an end; the rings were exchanged, the solemn decisive 'Yes' died away—Susanna Mattoni was Klaus's wife. The servants withdrew, the doors of the hall were closed, Pastor Grüne spoke a few more affecting words to Susanna, and Klaus silently pressed my hands.
"Brockelmann served a cold lunch and presented a glass of champagne; Isa brought in furs and cloak; the young couple intended to start in half an hour. Then the clergyman went away, Brockelmann and Isa had already left the room, and I was alone with Klaus and Susanna. He had drawn the smiling young wife to him. 'Susanna,' I heard him whisper, 'let us go to her, tell her that you forgive her; let us part in peace from Anna Maria, my sister.'
"The smile vanished, she stood there defiantly looking down to the floor, a deep blush on her face, and gradually her eyes filled with shining tears.
"'My first request, Susanna,' he repeated beseechingly. She remained silent, but rising on tip-toe, flung her arms about his neck; with infinite grace her head was slightly thrown back, and she looked up to him with her sweet eyes moist with tears. Impetuously he drew her to him and kissed the red lips and the little red scar on her forehead again and again.
"I stole softly out. The word of peace remained unspoken!
"An hour later the candles in the hall were extinguished, the house lay dark and silent."
"Anna Maria did not become ill, as we expected; hers was too firm, too strong a nature; but she had grown bitter and gloomy. She did not belong to that class of people whom a great sorrow makes tender.
"Joyless times followed that wedding—days and weeks, empty and cold. At first I had besought her to write to Klaus, not to let the breach become wider. She had answered me with a cold smile, and torn in two a letter from her brother after the first glance. I saved the pieces and found an effusion of honeymoon bliss, and nothing different could have been expected. Anna Maria had probably not observed the short business announcement that he had advantageously sold the estate in Silesia, and now thought of going to Paris with Susanna.
"Klaus wrote again, several times, to Anna Maria. She would carry a letter from him about with her all day, unopened, then occasionally tear it open, and begin to read, only to throw it into the fire before she had half finished. Later these letters to Anna Maria were discontinued. The old bailiff appeared now and then in the sitting-room, to tell her that the master had written him, and wished this and that, thus and so. Anna Maria would usually nod her head silently, and the man would stand, embarrassed, at the door a little while, and then go quietly away again.
"'Things are not as they ought to be any longer,' he declared to me. 'Formerly the Fräulein used to concern herself about every trifle, so that I often cursed her zeal; to-day anything may happen that will, it is all the same to her; and even if all the barns and granaries should burn down in the night, she would not stir.'
"It was true, Anna Maria no longer asked about anything; she seemed to have sunk into a regular apathy. It was a grief to see this young creature, from whom everything on which her heart was fixed was taken, and who now, without check or purpose, in the most tormenting pain of soul, shut her eyes and ears in dark defiance.
"'Diversion!' said the doctor.
"I looked at him in astonishment. 'I beg you, you have known the girl since her childhood, have you ever known a time when trifles and nonsense could give her pleasure, or could divert her at all from a sorrow?'
"'Nonsense!' replied the old man, 'but she is only a woman. She ought to marry, then everything would be different! It would be a pity if that girl should become a dried-up old maid.'
"I shook my head sadly.
"'Why the devil is she so unreasonable, too, as to fret about her brother's marriage?' he continued, undisturbed. No gray hair need be made grow over that. Take the young lady, pack her trunk, and go to Berlin for a few weeks. Go to the theatre every evening for my sake, and see something classical; but take her away from here!'
"'Ah, doctor, you do not know Anna Maria.'
"I made an attempt, nevertheless. She let me have my say, and then said: 'I do not understand the outside world at all. I miss nothing here, I complain of nothing. Do not tease me any more!'
"When the workmen appeared, one after another, to put in order the rooms for the young couple, when the dear old articles of furniture were taken out and the wall-papers torn off, she fled to her room. The writing-desk at which her father had formerly sat and worked was to remain in its place, at Klaus's express desire; but the old thing looked so ridiculously awkward beside theBoulefurniture that paper-hanger and cabinet-maker refused to receive it, so Anna Maria had it taken into her room. She now sat there all day at the window before her mother's sewing-table, and looked blankly out on the wintry garden, every stroke of the hammer from the workmen making her start. The bunch of keys no longer hung at her belt; Brockelmann had taken charge of that.
"No one came to see us in those desolate winter days, except the old brother and sister from the parsonage, and even from them she fled. I stood by her faithfully, and beheld the struggles of her proud heart.
"At first Isa had lived on quietly up-stairs by herself, disregarded by Anna Maria. Then one day toward Christmas she came into my room, beaming with joy, and announced to me that the young Frau wanted her to come to her; she was in need of her help at her toilet, and she was to have the position of lady's maid with her. 'Je vais à Paris ce soir, à Paris, and from there to Nice. Oh, I speak French excellently!'
"I wished her a prosperous journey, and commissioned her with messages. Then I sat down and reflected. Klaus, quiet, easy-going Klaus, who valued the comfort of his arm-chair in the evening beyond everything, in Paris, the gay Paris, with a young wife who needed a maid to make her toilet? I could not make that rhyme without a dissonance.
"In the rooms down-stairs an exquisite elegance was being gradually revealed, and I learned from the workmen that the pale blue silk hangings of the boudoir (the little library next to Klaus's study was converted into a boudoir), and the dainty rosewood furniture, Frau von Hegewitz had chosen herself in Berlin; that the crimson silk drapery for the salon cost tenthalera yard, and that the Smyrna rug in there was real. Tears came into my eyes. What had become of our dear old, comfortable sitting-room? What had we ever known of salons and boudoirs at Bütze?
"As in passing through the garden-parlor one day Anna Maria's feet sank in a Persian rug, and she perceived the low divans which ran along the sides of the room, and the gold-embroidered cushions; and as she caught sight of a gleaming, gay mosaic floor on the terrace instead of the honest stone flags over which her childish feet had so often tripped, on which she had stood so many a time beside Klaus; and saw, instead of the gray stone balustrade, a gilded railing, a slight tremble came upon her lips, and a few great tear-drops ran down her cheeks, and she slowly turned her back to the room. She always went to the garden through the lower entry afterward.
"It was on a stormy evening in March that Anna Maria for the first time broke her long, habitually sober silence. I had not seen her all day; her door remained closed to my knocking. And yet I would have so gladly said a few affectionate words to her—to-day was her birthday.
"In vain had Brockelmann made the huge pound-cake wreathed with the first snow-drops, and in vain placed a couple of blooming hyacinths on the breakfast-table. The door of Anna Maria's room had not been opened. A letter addressed to me had come from Klaus, requesting me to give to his sister the enclosed open letter. It was affectionately written, begging that she would soften her heart, and requesting a few lines from her hand. 'What sort of a home-coming will it be for Susanna and me,' he wrote, 'if the unhappy misunderstanding is not forgotten? We are ready to consider all as not having happened, if you will come to meet us in the old love. Be friendly to Susanna, too. I can honestly confess to you that I long to be at home, in our dear old house, regularly employed. A life like this here is nothing to me; I always hated idleness. Susanna's health, so far as temporary demands are made upon it, is satisfactory; but for her, too, I wish, especially now, the quiet of the less exciting life at home. Let me once more add to the heartiest wishes for your welfare the desire that we may soon meet again in the old fraternal love.' A dainty visiting-card, 'Susanna, Baroness von Hegewitz,' with a lightly scribbled wish for happiness, lay with the letter.
"In his letter to me Klaus repeated that he was longing for home, that he earnestly besought me to induce Anna Maria to be gentle, for he made his home-coming especially dependent upon her state of mind, as he could not possibly expose Susanna now to excitement and unfriendly treatment. But he cherished a strong desire to return at the beginning of spring at the latest, for this and other reasons.
"The two letters lay before me on the table; how should I make their contents known to Anna Maria? For she read no letters at all. And how would she receive the news of his return? A change in her feelings was not to be hoped for so soon, not even at the announcement of this glad news.
"Brockelmann had come in and complained, with a shake of her head, that Anna Maria had not eaten a mouthful to-day, and it was four o'clock already. 'She is growing old before her time,' added the old woman; 'does she look now as if she were under thirty? Yesterday I brushed her hair and found two long silvery threads in it. O Lord! and so young!'
"In the depth of twilight Anna Maria came suddenly into the room. She did not say 'Good evening' at all, but only, 'Please do not allude to my birthday, aunt!' And after a pause she added: 'Things cannot remain as they are here; Klaus will want to come home, and then there will be one too many in Bütze. I have been considering lately how I should manage not to be in his way, and have at last decided to go at once to the convent in B——.'
"'You would grieve Klaus to death, Anna Maria,' said I; 'it does not do to carry a thing too far. You are both defiant, you are both stubborn, but Klaus has been the first to extend his hand, and he still offers it. Here, read his letter, read it just this once, and be of a different mind.'
"I lit a candle, and pressed the letter into her hand; and she really read it. A slight blush rose to her pale face, then she nodded her head seriously. 'Believe me,' she said, 'he will really be best pleased if he does not find me here. Write him that, aunt. In this way no possible conflict can ensue.'
"'Anna Maria, you would—you could really go away from here?' cried I, pained. 'How can it be possible? Truly I had expected more feeling, more attachment in you. You can be heartless sometimes!'
"She was silent. 'Stürmer is coming back next month,' she said at last, in a strangely trembling voice, 'and I would like to be as far away as possible.'
"I sprang up, and threw my arms around her. 'My poor, dear child,' I begged, weeping, 'forgive me!'
"And she went, she really went away! On one of the first days of April, early in the day, the carriage which was to take her away stopped before the front steps.
"Anna Maria went down the steps with me, followed by Brockelmann. She quickly got in, and drew her dark gauze veil over her face. 'Greet Klaus heartily for me,' she whispered to me again; 'all the happiness in the world to him and his wife!'
"Then she was gone, and I went quietly up the steps. It seemed unspeakably strange and lonely here to me all at once. I wandered through the newly furnished rooms; they had all been heated and the windows opened. Comfortable, elegant, very pleasant it looked all about here, as if made expressly for Susanna's beauty; but they were no longer the old Bütze rooms, with their ancestral comfort, their dear associations. I stood now in Susanna's little boudoir; I noticed a fold of the pale blue portière yonder hanging, out of order, over an indistinguishable object—the upholsterer surely had not intended it so. I went over and lifted up the heavy silk to lay it again in regular folds on the carpet, when my eye fell upon a little old wooden cradle, painted with a crest, and oddly curved, strangely contrasting, in its rude form, with the elegant appointments of the room; and gently rocking in it were shining white, fine, lace-trimmed pillows, daintily tied with little blue bows; a basket pushed half under the couch of the young wife concealed little clothes of the finest linen, most beautifully sewed, hem-stitched, and trimmed with lace, made as only a skilled hand knows how.
"'Anna Maria,' I said, softly, looking with moist eyes upon the old cradle in which she, in which Klaus had once lain, and which now stood here, a greeting of reconciliation to the heart of the young wife who had robbed her of her peace and happiness.
"Two days later there was a lively stir at Bütze. Unfortunately, a bad headache banished me to a sofa in my dark room, so that I could not welcome the young couple on the threshold of their home. But I heard up here the unusual moving about; the bell in the servants' room, which had been formerly so seldom used, rang a regular alarm, and there was such a slamming of doors and rushing and running about for the first few hours that I had to draw the thickest pillow over my aching head in order to have any quiet.
"Klaus came up to me very soon; he sat down quietly by my bed and pressed my hand.
"'You are glad to be at home again?' I asked kindly. 'How is your little wife?'
"'Thank you,' he replied, 'she is asleep now. I do not know; I must accustom myself to it first; it has been made so different, so strange, with all these alterations. And then'—he was silent—'one misses Anna Maria everywhere,' he added.
"'You incorrigible people, you!' I scolded vexatiously, 'Bend or break, but not yield, and then perish with longing for each other! A silly, stupid set you are!'
"He made no reply to that. 'After three months in the country,' said he, 'I will go and get her. Now it is better that Susanna should remain alone.'
"'You have been living very happily there?' I asked.
"'Oh, Heaven, yes!' he replied. 'The gay life was new to Susanna, and amused her delightfully. Thank God that we are here! How do you really like the rooms down-stairs?'
"'Well, they are very beautiful, Klaus, without doubt. But if I am to be honest, it was more comfortable before.'
"'Susanna is quite enchanted with them,' he continued. 'But I had a melancholy feeling when I found the sitting-room without the old stove, the great writing-desk, and Anna Maria's spinning-wheel. I really cannot sit in these spider-legged easy-chairs without fear of breaking down.' He laughed, but it had not a hearty sound.
"'Shall you be able to eat supper with us?' he asked.
"I promised to do so if I were well enough. If you will let me sleep a little longer now, Klaus, I shall be able to come down.' And then he went away.
"Toward evening I was awakened from a light slumber by the ringing of bells again; again I heard doors shutting, and footsteps of people hurrying to and fro. At the first instant I thought of an accident, but then recollected that it had been just so in the afternoon, and made my toilet and went down.
"The first person to step up to me was Mademoiselle Isa. She greeted me very warmly, and with a certain pretentiousness. 'The gracious Frau had drunk a cup of chocolate and was quite well,' she added, as she opened the door of the former sitting-room, which was agreeably lighted by two lamps, and pointed to the drawn-back portière: 'The gracious Frau is in her boudoir.'
"Indeed, I was curious to see Susanna again as 'gracious Frau,' and limped quickly across to the little room. The soft carpet had deadened the sound of my steps, and I entered the snug little room unperceived. Susanna was resting on the divan; I saw her beautiful black curls falling over the blue cushions, a tiny lace cap was half-hidden among them. Her face was turned toward the fire, which, notwithstanding the warm April evening, was burning brightly in the little fire-place.
"'Susanna!' I called softly. She started up, and with a cry of joy fell on my neck. 'Aunt Rosamond, dear aunt!' she cried, and kissed and patted me with the pleasure of a happy child. 'My good Aunt Rosamond!' And she seized my hands and drew me, without letting go, to the sofa. She exercised the same old charm upon me; I had never been able to be angry with her; her grace was irresistible, and took heart and mind prisoner.
"I raised the round chin a little and looked at her. It was the old, sweet, childish face, only still more attractive by reason of a slight pallor and a strange, sad look about the mouth; the eyes had lost the questioning look which sometimes gave them such a peculiar expression, but I thought they had grown larger and more brilliant. She threw her arms about my neck again, and kissed me and laughed, and then came a tear or two, and then she laughed again.
"She chattered about Nice, about Paris, and said she wanted to live here quietly only a little while, and then fell on my neck again and whispered a thanks.
"'No, no!' said I, smiling, 'I am not guilty of that; your thanks belong to Anna Maria.'
"She grew silent and pale. Then she sprang up and drew me into the salon. I had to gaze at a hundred things which she had brought with her—worthless toys, knick-knacks, fans, and all manner of folly, of whose existence I had never dreamed till now, and which struck me as infinitely useless. 'Klaus has had to give me everything, everything,' she cried, joyfully, 'except this. Aunt, do you see?' She pointed to a charming shepherdess of Sevres porcelain. 'That is a present from Stürmer.'
"I stared at her. 'Have you met him on the way?' She did not return my look, but her face glowed as rosy red as the ribbons on her white dress. 'Yes,' said she lightly, 'we were with him a day in Nice, but he went away in haste, and this is a souvenir.' And then she told me about the sea and the palm-trees, of gondola-sails by moonlight, till her cheeks grew crimson at the recollection.
"'Ah, life is so beautiful, so beautiful!' she cried, 'and—' She broke off, for Klaus entered. He wore a short coat and high boots, and his face was radiant with joy in the long-suspended activity.
"'I have been clattering all over the fields,' said he gayly, 'and am tired as a dog, little wife, and hungry and thirsty. Do you know what would particularly please me?' He pushed the curls from her forehead and kissed her. 'A slice of honest German ham and a good glass of beer! The French sauces had a miserable after-taste to me, brrr—! Holla! ho!' he called out at the door, 'will supper be ready soon?'
"He did not seem to notice at all that Susanna made a wry face at his declaring it was unnecessary for her to make a fresh toilet for supper, and that she took his arm reluctantly. 'Ah, but we will live here in comfort,' said he beseechingly, holding her two hands over the table, 'not as in a hotel. When we go to Nice again I promise you always to appear in dress-coat. Here I should have no time at all for the continual changing of dress; and as for you, you do not look more charming in any state costume than in that white thing there.'
"She shook her head, laughing, and showed him a little fist. 'Wait,' said she, 'what did you promise me?'
"'Well, then, in the future,' he persevered; 'but to-day, and to-morrow too, let me enjoy the comfort I have so long done without—do.'
"Susanna smiled; and he ate German ham and drank German beer to his heart's content, while she took a roll spread with something or other, with her tea, which Klaus prepared for her. I saw, in astonishment, how carefully he made the tea, how he heeded her every glance; now attentively passed her pepper and salt, and now cut a fresh sausage and roll, or carefully removed bones and tail from a sardine, every instant asking if it tasted good to her, if she were satisfied with her rooms, if she liked the flowers in the salon. He treated her like a little spoiled princess.
"After supper I was going to withdraw; I thought they must be tired from their journey. Susanna had lain down again on her couch; she kissed me once more, and Klaus accompanied me as I went out. I saw that he held a book in his hand. 'Good-night, aunt,' he said, 'I am going to read aloud to Susanna.'
"'For heaven's sake!' I cried, 'you are already yawning privately!'
"'Yes, I am tired to-night,' he replied, 'but Susanna is so accustomed to it; she does not go to sleep before one o'clock.'
"'Klaus, Klaus!' I warned him, 'if she has accustomed herself to it, let her become disused to it. Only think, when you want to rise early in the morning!"
"He heard me not. 'Aunt,' said he, holding me fast by the hand, his eyes shining so happily, 'is she not a good, charming little wife?'
"I smiled in his face. 'Very charming, Klaus!'
"'And who prophesied to me that I should be unhappy all my life, eh?' he asked.
"'Oh, Klaus, not I, indeed!' I contradicted earnestly. 'If Anna Maria had apprehensions, they were certainly not without foundation, and a housewife Susanna will never be.'
"'No, she is not yet a German housewife,' he broke in, in a somewhat disheartened manner, 'but she can be, and will be yet.'
"I nodded to him: 'Sleep well, Klaus!'
"'Is it not so?' he asked, holding me back.' You will write to Anna Maria that we are happy with one another; you will tell her how good and charming she is?'
"'Yes, my boy, and now, good-night.'
"Anna Maria's letters were brief and meagre; her handwriting very large and angular, as it is to-day. She wrote me that she was very well there, occupied a pair of pretty rooms, and was much with the abbess, who had been a friend of her mother. 'But I miss activity,' she added; 'a life on the sofa, in the company of stocking-knitting and books, is hateful to me; that is not resting.' A greeting for Klaus and Susanna was added.
"I answered her, writing that Klaus worshipped his wife and was happy.
"'May God keep him thus!' she answered laconically. She was not to be reached with that; she had no belief in a happiness with Susanna.
"Stürmer, who, as Anna Maria thought, was to come in April, was not yet here. He was a migratory bird, only without the regularity of one."