Brauer.
Oh--nothing, nothing. Anyway--that woman really did return, and as we
did not want the child to see her, we gave her more money. Of course
she remembered that and so finally she became a positive plague.
Mrs. Brauer.
Oh, Henry, I have often thought since, perhaps a mother's heart
prompted her----
Brauer.
You think so, eh? Then perhaps a mother's heart also prompted her to
steal at the same time! for every time she honored us with a visit,
something or other disappeared, until I grew suspicious, had her
watched, she was caught red-handed--and, of course, a long term in
prison was the result.
Pastor.
And the girl--does she know or suspect anything at all?
Mrs. Brauer.
We told her, her mother was dead. But one day she really did see her.
Pastor.
How did that misfortune happen?
Mrs. Brauer.
It was on her confirmation day, just as the girls left the church in a
body, when we heard a cry. What had happened? Why, that woman had been
lying in wait for the procession; when suddenly she appeared, seized
her child, and kneeling before her in the road, passionately covered
her hands and feet with kisses.
Pastor.
[_Shuddering_.] Horrible!!!!!!
Mrs. Brauer.
I tore the child from her arms, of course, and carried her into the
house. We had to make some kind of an explanation; a drunken vagabond,
I told her! Did she believe it?--H'm?--Then she fell ill----
Pastor.
And how is it now?
Brauer.
[_Humorously_.] Why, Pastor, you seem very much interested.
George.
[_Enters_. Gertrude _follows him in_.] I presume I am pretty well done
by this time.
Brauer.
We haven't even started with your case. The pastor is interested in
something of far greater importance.
Pastor.
[_With meaning and moved_.] You must not believe that, Mr. von
Harten; but there are lives whose fates are surrounded by so much
mystery---- [_with a glance at_ Marie, _who enters L. with package of
linen_.]
George.
[_Who follows his glance_.] Yes, yes, you are right.
Pastor.
If you will allow me, I will call again about the sermon.
Mrs. Brauer.
[_Giving him her hand_.] Pastor, you know you are always welcome in
this house.
Brauer.
Give my regards to our good old pastor. Towards evening we will see
him, as usual.
Pastor.
Oh, I had almost forgotten! He desires me to ask you kindly, should you
again favor him with eggnog, to please add a little more sugar, for the
last was a trifle tart.
Mrs. Brauer.
Why, of course, the poor old soul.
Pastor.
Do not say that, madame; for when the time has come when all our wishes
and hopes and desires are concentrated upon a small quantity of sweets,
our sufferings are near the end. And now, adieu. Miss Marie, adieu.
Marie.
[_Preoccupied_.] Adieu.
[Pastor _exits, accompanied by_ Brauer.]
[Gertrude _enters_.]
Mrs. Brauer.
Don't be afraid dear, no one will scold you.
Gertrude.
Oh mama, I'm so ashamed of myself. When he arrived he seemed so
jolly--and now--I am sure he is offended.
George.
He was not offended, dear, only a little grave.
Mrs. Brauer.
At any rate, what do you think of him, Marie?
Marie.
[_Glancing up from her work, sorting linen_.] Of whom, mama dear?
Mrs. Brauer.
Why, the new pastor.
Marie.
Oh mama, my mind is so occupied, I hadn't given him a thought.
Gertrude.
[_Aside to_ George.] Now you tell her, George.
Marie.
Gertrude, how about our manzanillo-tree--any blossoms this morning?
Mrs. Brauer.
You don't mean to say you haven't looked after that beloved tree of
yours this morning?
Marie.