As the young girls were getting out of their sedan-chair, the
Frauenthor, which was closed at nightfall, opened to admit another whose
destination also seemed to be the Ortlieb mansion.
Katterle was standing in the lower entry with her apron raised to her
face. She had learned that her true and steadfast lover had been carried
to the “Hole,” and was waiting here for her mistresses and also for
Herr Pfinzing and his wife, whom old Martsche had conducted to the
sittingroom in the second story. Herr Pfinzing, in her opinion, had as
much power as the Emperor, and his wife was famed all over the city
for her charitable and active kindness. When the noble couple came down
Katterle meant to throw herself on her knees at their feet and beseech
them to have mercy on her betrothed husband. The sisters and Cordula
comforted her with the promise that they would commend Biberli’s cause
to the magistrate; but as they went upstairs they again expressed to one
another the fear that Katterle herself would sooner or later follow the
man she loved to prison.
They found Herr Pfinzing and his wife in the sitting-room.
Katterle was not wrong in expecting kindly help from this lady, for a
more benevolent face than hers could scarcely be imagined, and, more
over, Fran Christine certainly did not lack strength to do what
she deemed right. Though not quite so broad as her short, extremely
corpulent husband, she surpassed him in height by several inches, and
time had transformed the pretty, slender, modest girl into a majestic
woman. The slight arch of the nose, the lofty brow, the light down on
the upper lip, and the deep voice even gave her a somewhat imperious
aspect. Had it not been for the kind, faithful eyes, and an extremely
pleasant expression about the mouth, one might have wondered how she
could succeed in inspiring everyone at the first glance with confidence
in her helpful kindness of heart.
Her grey pug had also been brought with her. How could an animal supply
the place of beloved human beings? Yet the pug had become necessary
to her since her son, like so many other young men who belonged to
patrician Nuremberg families, had fallen in the battle of Marchfield,
and her daughter had accompanied her husband to his home in Augsburg.
The onerous duties of her husband’s office compelled him to leave her
alone a great deal, and even in her extremely active life there were
lonely hours when she needed a living creature that was faithfully
devoted to her.
She was often overburdened with work, for every charitable institution
sought her as a “fosterer.” True, in many cases their request was vain.
Whatever she undertook must be faultlessly executed, and the charge of
the orphan children in the city, the Beguines, and the hospital at her
summer residence occupied her sufficiently. During the winter she lived
with her husband at his official quarters in the castle, but as soon as
spring came she longed for her little manor at Schweinau, for she
had taken into the institution erected there for the widows of noble
crusaders, but in which only the last four of these ladies were now
supported, a number of Beguines. These were godly girls and women who
did not wish to submit to convent rules, or did not possess the favour
or the money required for admission.
Without pledging themselves to celibacy or any of the other restrictions
imposed upon the nuns, they desired only, in association with others of
the same mind, to lead a life pleasing in the sight of God and devoted
to Christian charity. Schweinau afforded abundant opportunity for
charitable women to aid suffering fellow-mortals, since it was here that
the unfortunates who had been mutilated by the hands of the executioner
and his assistants, or wounded on the rack, often nearly unto death,
were brought to be bandaged, and as far as possible healed. The Beguines
occupied themselves in nursing them, but had many a conflict with the
spiritual authorities, who preferred the monks and nuns bound by a
monastic vow. The order of St. Francis alone regarded them with favour,
interceded for them, and watched over them with kindly interest, taking
care that they were kept aloof from everything which would expose them
to reproach or blame.
Frau Christine, the Abbess Kunigunde’s sister, aided her in this effort,
and the Beguines, to whom the magistrate’s wife in no way belonged,
but who had given them a home on her own estate, silently rendered her
obedience when she wished to see undesirable conditions in their common
life removed.
Els, as well as Eva, had long since told Frau Christine, who was equally
dear to both, everything that afforded ground for the shameful calumnies
which had now urged their father to a deed for which he was atoning in
prison.
When, a few hours before, a messenger from her husband informed her of
what had occurred, she had instantly come to the city to see that the
right thing was done, and take the girls thus bereft of their father
from the desolate Ortlieb mansion to her own house. Herr Pfinzing had
warmly approved this plan, and accompanied her to the “Es,” as he, too,
was fond of calling his nieces.
When she had been told what motives induced Eva not to confide herself
just now to the protection of the convent, Frau Christine struck her
broad hips, exclaiming, “There’s something in blood! The young creature
acts as if her old aunt had thought for her.”
Her invitation sounded so loving and cordial, her husband pressed it
with such winning, jovial urgency, and the pug Amicus, whose attachment
to Eva was especially noticeable, supported his mistress’s wish
with such ardent zeal, that she called the sisters’ attention to his
intercession.
Meanwhile the girls had already expressed to each other, with the mute
language of the eyes, their inclination to accept the invitation so
affectionately extended. Els only made the condition that they were not
to go to Schweinau until early the following morning, after their
visit to their father; Eva, on the other hand, desired to go as soon
as possible, gladly and gratefully confessing to her aunt how much more
calmly she would face the future now that she was permitted to be under
her protection.
“Just creep under the old hen’s wings, my little chicken; she will keep
you warm,” said the kind-hearted woman, kissing Eva. But, as she
began to plan for the removal of the sisters, more visitors were
announced--indeed, several at once; first, Albert Ebner, of the Council,
and his wife, then Frau Clara Loffelholz, who came without her husband,
and the two daughters of the imperial ranger Waldstromer, Els’s most
intimate friends. They had come in from the forest-house the day
before to attend Frau Maria Ortlieb’s burial. Now, with their mother’s
permission, they came to invite the deserted girls to the forest. The
others also begged the sisters to come to them, and so did Councillors
Schurstab, Behaim, Gross, Holzschuher, and Pirckheimer, who came, some
with their wives and some singly, to look after the daughters of their
imprisoned colleague.
The great sitting-room was filled with guests, and the stalwart figures
and shrewd, resolute faces of the men, the kind, good, and usually
pleasing countenances of the women, whose blue eyes beamed with
philanthropic benevolence, though they carried their heads high enough,
afforded a delightful spectacle, and one well calculated to inspire
respect. There could be no doubt that those whose locks were already
grey represented distinguished business houses and were accustomed to
manage great enterprises. There was not a single one whom the title
“Honour of the Family” could not have well befitted; and what cheerful
self-possession echoed in the deep voices of the men, what maternal
kindness in those of the elder women, most of whom also spoke in
sonorous tones!
Els and Eva often cast stolen glances at each other as they greeted the
visitors, thanked them, answered questions, gave explanations, accepted
apologies, received and courteously declined invitations. They did not
comprehend what had produced this sudden change of feeling in so many of
their equals in rank, what had brought them in such numbers at so late
an hour, as if the slightest delay was an offence, to their quiet house,
which that very day had seemed to Frau Vorkler too evil to permit her
children to remain in its service.
The old magistrate and his wife, on the contrary, thought that they
knew. They had helped the sisters to receive the first callers; but when
Frau Barbara Behaim, a cousin of the late Frau Maria, had appeared, they
gave up their post to her, and slipped quietly into the next room to
escape the throng.
There they retired to the niche formed by the deep walls of the broad
central window of the house, and Herr Berthold Pfinzing whispered to his
wife: “There was too much philanthropy and kindness for me in there. A
great deal of honey at once cloys me. But you, prophetess, foresaw what
is now occurring, and I, too, scarcely expected anything different. So
long as one still has a doublet left compassion is in no haste, but
when the last shirt is stripped from the body charity--thank the
saints!--moves faster. We are most ready to help those who, we feel very
sure, are suffering more than they deserve. There are many motherless
children; but young girls who have lost both parents, exposed to every
injustice----”
“Are certainly rare birds,” his wife interrupted, “and this will
undoubtedly be of service to the children. But if they are now invited
to the houses of the same worthy folk who, a few hours ago, thought
themselves too good to attend the funeral of their admirable mother, and
anxiously kept their own little daughters away from them, they probably
owe it especially to the right mediators, noble old Vorchtel and
another.”
“To-day, if ever, certainly furnished evidence how heavily the testimony
and example of a really estimable man weighs on the scale. The First
Losunger interceded for the children as if they were his own daughters,
attacked the slanderers, and of course I didn’t leave him in the lurch.”
“Peter Holzschuher declared that you defended them like the Roman
Cicero,” cried Frau Christine merrily. “But don’t be vexed,
dear husband; no matter how heavily the influence of the two
Bertholds--Vorchtel’s and yours--weighed in the balance, nay, had that
of a third and a fourth of the best Councillors been added, what is now
taking place before our eyes and ears would not have happened, if---”
“Well?” asked the magistrate eagerly.
“If,” replied the matron in a tone of the firmest conviction, “they
had not all been far from believing, even for a moment, in their inmost
souls the shameful calumny which baseness dared to cast upon those
two--just look more closely.”
“Yet if that was really the case--” her husband began to object, but she
eagerly continued: “Many did not utter their better knowledge or faith
because the evil heart believes in wickedness rather than virtue,
especially if their own house contains something--we will say a young
daughter--whose shining purity is thereby brought into a clearer light.
Besides, we ourselves have often been vexed by--let us do honour to
the truth!--by the defiant manner in which your devout godchild--yonder
‘little saint’--held aloof in her spiritual arrogance from the
companions of her own age----”
“And then,” the corpulent husband added, “two young girls cannot be
called ‘the beautiful Es’ unpunished in houses which contain a less
comely T, S, and H. Just think of the Katerpecks. There--thank the
saints!--they are taking leave already.”
“Don’t say anything about them!” said Frau Christine, shaking her finger
threateningly. “They are good, well-behaved children. It was pretty
Ermengarde Muffel yonder by the fireplace who, after the dance at the
Town Hall, assailed your godchild most spitefully with her sharp tongue.
My friend Frau Nutzel heard her.”
“Ah, that dance!” said the magistrate, sighing faintly. “But the child
was certainly distinguished in no common way. The Emperor Rudolph
himself looked after her as if an angel had appeared to him. You
yourself heard his sister’s opinion of her. Her husband, the old
Burgrave, and his son, handsome Eitelfritz--But you know all that. Half
would have been enough to stir ill-will in many a heart.”
“And to turn her pretty little head completely,” added his wife.
“That, by our Lady, Christine,” protested the magistrate, “that, at
least, did not happen. It ran off from her like water from an oil jar. I
noticed it myself, and the abbess--”
“Your sister,” interrupted the matron thoughtfully, “she was the very
one who led her into the path that is not suited for her.”
“No, no,” the magistrate eagerly asserted. “God did not create a girl,
the mere sight of whom charms so many, to withdraw her from the gaze of
the world.”
“Husband! husband!” exclaimed Frau Christine, tapping his arm gaily.
“But there go the Schurstabs and Ebners. What a noise there is in the
street below!”
Her husband looked out of the bow window, pointed down, and asked her to
come and stand beside him. When she had risen he passed his arm around
the slenderest part of her waist, which, however, he could not quite
clasp, and eagerly continued: “Just look! One would think it was a
banquet or a dance. The whole street is filled with sedan-chairs,
servants, and torch-bearers. A few hours ago the constables had hard
work to prevent the deluded people from destroying the house of
the profligate Es, and now one half of the distinguished honourable
Councillors come to pay their homage. Do you know, dear, what pleases
the most in all this?”
“Well?” asked Frau Christine, turning her face towards him with a look
of eager enquiry, which showed that she expected to hear something good.
But he nodded slightly, and answered:
“We members of patrician families cling to old customs; each wants to
keep his individuality, as he would share or exchange his escutcheon
with no one. Then, when one surpasses the rest in external things,
whatever name they may bear, no one hastens to imitate him. We men are
independent, rugged fellows. But if the heart and mind of any one of us
are bent upon something really good and which may be said to be pleasing
in the sight of God, and he successfully executes it, then, Christine,
then--I have noticed it in a hundred instances--then the rest rush after
him like sheep after the bellwether.”
“And this time you, and the other Berthold, were the leaders,” cried
Fran Christine, hastily pressing a kiss upon her old husband’s cheek
behind the curtain.
Then she turned back into the dusky chamber, pointed to the open door
of the sitting-room, and said, “just look! If that isn’t----There comes
Ursula Vorchtel with her betrothed husband, young Hans Nutzel! What
a fine-looking man the slender youth has become! Ursel--her visit is
probably the greatest pleasure which Els has had during this blessed
hour.”
The wise woman was right; for when Ursel held out her hands to her
former friend, whom she had studiously avoided so long, the eyes of both
girls were moist, and Els’s cheeks alternately flushed and paled, like
the play of light and shadow on the ground upon a sunny morning in a
leafy wood when the wind sways the tree tops.
What did they not have to say to each other! As soon as they were
unnoticed a moment Ursel kissed her newly regained friend, and
whispered, pointing to her lover, with whom Fran Barbara Behaim was
talking: “He first taught me to know what true love is, and since then I
have realised that it was wrong and foolish for me to be angry with you,
my dear Els, and that Wolff did right to keep his troth, hard as his
family made it for him to do so. Had my Hans met me a little sooner, we
should not now have to mourn our poor Ulrich. I know--for I have tried
often enough to soothe his resentment--how greatly he incensed your
lover. Oh, how sad it all is! But your aunt, the abbess, was right when
she told us before our confirmation, ‘When the cross that is imposed
upon us weighs too heavily, an angel often comes, lifts it, and twines
it with lovely roses!’ That has been my experience, dear Els; and what
great injustice I did you when I kept out of your way so meanly! I
always felt drawn to you. But when that evil gossip began I turned
against them all and bade them be silent in my presence, for it was all
false, base lies. I upheld your Eva, too, as well as you, though she had
been very ungracious whenever we met.”
How joyously Els opened her heart to these confessions! How warmly she
interceded for her sister! The girls had passed their arms around each
other, as if they had returned to the days of their childhood, and
when Ursel’s lover glanced at his betrothed bride, who, spite of her
well-formed figure and pleasant face, could not be classed amongst the
most beautiful of women, he thought she might compare in attractiveness
with the loveliest maidens, but no one could equal her in kindness of
heart. She saw this in the warm, loving look with which he sought her
pleasant grey eyes, as he approached to remind her that it was time to
go; but beckoning to him, she begged him to wait just a moment longer,
which she employed in whispering to Els: “You should find shelter with
us, and no one else, if my father----Don’t think he refused to let me
invite you on account of poor Ulrich, or because he was angry with you.
It’s only because----After the session to-day they all praised his noble
heart, and I don’t know what else, so loudly and with such exaggeration
that it was too much to believe. If he interceded for the Eysvogel firm
and you poor children, it was only because, as a just man, he could not
do otherwise.”
“Oh, Ursel!” Els here interrupted, wishing to join in her father’s
praise; but the latter would not listen and eagerly continued:
“No, no, he really felt so. His modesty made him unwilling to awaken the
belief that he asked the betrothed bride of the man--you understand
and her sister into his house, to set an example of Christian
reconciliation. False praise, he says, weighs more heavily than
disgrace. He has already heard more of it than he likes, and therefore,
for no other reason, he does not open his house to you, but upon his
counsel and his aid, he bids me tell you, you can confidently rely.”
Then the friends took leave of each other, and Ursula also embraced Eva,
who approached her with expressions of warm gratitude, kissed her, and
said, as she went away, “When next we meet, Miss Ungracious, I hope we
shall no longer turn our backs on each other.”
When Ursel had gone with her lover, and most of the others had followed,
Els felt so elated by thankfulness that she did not understand how her
heart, burdened with such great and heavy anxieties, could be capable of
rising to such rapturous delight.
How gladly she would have hastened to Wolff to give him his share of
this feeling! But, even had not new claims constantly pressed upon her,
she could on no account have sought his hiding-place at this hour.
When the last guest and the abbess also had retired, Aunt Christine
asked Els to pack whatever she and her sister needed for the removal to
Schweinau, for Eva was to go there with her at once.
Countess Cordula, who, much as she regretted the necessity of being
separated from her companions, saw that they were right to abandon the
house from which their father had been torn, wanted to help Els,
but just as the two girls were leaving the room a new visitor
arrived--Casper Teufel, of the Council, a cousin of Casper Eysvogel,
who had leaned on his arm for support when he left the session that
afternoon.
Els would not have waited for any other guest, but this one, as his
first words revealed, came from the family to which she felt that she
belonged, and the troubled face of the greyhaired, childless widower,
who was usually one of the most jovial of men, as well as the unusually
late hour of his call, indicated so serious a reason for his coming that
she stopped, and with anxious urgency asked what news he had brought.
It was not unexpected, yet his brief report fell heavily on the heart of
Els, which had just ventured to beat gaily and lightly.
Her uncle and aunt, Eva and the countess, also listened to the story.
He had accompanied Casper Eysvogel to his home and remained with him
whilst, overflowing with resentment and vehement, unbridled complaints
of the injustice and despotism to which--owing specially to the
hostility and self-conceit of old Berthold Vorchtel--he had fallen a
victim, he informed Fran Rosalinde and her mother what the Council had
determined concerning his own future and that of his family.
When he finally reported that he himself and the ladies must leave the
house and the city, Countess Rotterbach, with a scornful glance at her
deeply humiliated son-in-law, exclaimed, “This is what comes of throwing
one’s self away!” The unfortunate man, already shaken to the inmost
depths of his being, sank on his knees.
Conrad Teufel had instantly placed him in bed and sent for the leech;
but even after they had bathed his head with cold water and bled him he
did not regain consciousness. His left side seemed completely paralysed,
and his tongue could barely lisp a few unintelligible words.
At the leech’s desire a Sister of Charity had been sent for. Isabella
Siebenburg, the sufferer’s daughter, had already gone with her twin
sons, in obedience to her husband’s wish, to Heideck Castle.
She had departed in anger, because she had vainly endeavoured to induce
her mother and grandmother, who opposed her, to speak more kindly of her
husband. When they disparaged the absent man with cruel harshness, she
felt--she had told her cousin so--as if the infants could understand the
insult offered to their father, and, to protect the children even more
than herself, from her husband’s feminine foes, she left the falling
house, in spite of the entreaties and burning tears with which, in the
hour of parting, her mother strove to detain her.
Ere her departure she gave her jewels and the silver which her
grandfather had bequeathed to her to Conrad Teufel, to satisfy the most
urgent demands of her husband’s creditors. Her father and she had parted
kindly, and he made no attempt to oppose her.
No one except the Sister of Charity was now in attendance upon the old
gentleman; for his wife wept and wailed without finding strength to do
anything, and even reproached her own mother, whom she accused of having
plunged them all into misfortune, and caused the stroke of paralysis
from which her husband was suffering.
The grey-haired countess, the cousin went on, had passed from one attack
of convulsions into another, and when he approached her had shrieked
the words “ingratitude” and “base reward” so shrilly at him, in various
tones, that they were still ringing in his ears.
Everything in the luckless household was out of gear, and its noble
guest, the Duke von Gulich, would feel the consequences, for the
servants had lost their wits too. Spite of the countless men and maids,
he had been obliged to go himself to the pump to get a glass of water
for the sick man, and the fragments of the vase which the grandmother
had flung at him with her own noble hand were still lying on the floor.
His name was Teufel--[devil]--but even in his home in Hades things could
scarcely be worse.
When Herr Teufel at last paused, the magistrate and his wife exchanged a
significant glance, while Eva gazed with deep suspense, and Cordula with
earnest pity, at Els, who had listened to the story fairly panting for
breath.
When she raised her tearful eyes to Herr Pfinzing and Frau Christine,
saying mournfully, “I must beg you to excuse me, my dear aunt and uncle;
you have heard how much my Wolff’s father needs me,” all saw their
expectations fulfilled.
“Hard, hard!” said the magistrate, patting her on the shoulder. “Yet the
lead with which we burden ourselves from kindly intentions becomes wood,
or at last even feathers.”
But Frau Christine was not content with uttering cheering words; she
offered to accompany Els and secure the place to which she was entitled.
Frau Rosalinde had formerly often visited the matron to seek counsel,
and had shown her, with embarrassing plainness, how willingly she
admitted her superior ability. She disliked the old countess--but with
whom would not the self-reliant woman, conscious of her good intentions,
have dared to cope? Since the daughter of the house had left her
relatives, the place beside his father’s sick-bed belonged to the son’s
future wife. Frau Rosalinde was weak, but not the worst of women. “Just
wait, child,” Aunt Christine concluded, “she will see soon enough what
a blessing enters the house and the sick-room with you. We will try to
erect a wall against the old woman’s spite.”
Conrad Teufel confessed that he had come with the hope of inducing Els,
who had nursed her own mother so skilfully and patiently, to make so
praiseworthy a resolution. In taking leave he promised to keep a sharp
lookout for her rights, and, if necessary, to show the old she-devil his
own cloven foot.
After he, too, had gone, the preparations for the sisters’ departure
were commenced. Whilst Cordula was helping Eva to select the articles
she wished to take to Schweinau, and her older sister, with Katterle’s
assistance, was packing the few pieces of clothing she needed as a nurse
in the Eysvogel family, the countess offered to visit Herr Ernst in the
watch-tower early the following morning and tell him what detained
his daughters. Towards evening Eva could come into the city under the
protection of her aunt, who had many claims upon her the next day, and
see the prisoner.
This time, to the surprise of her sister, who had always relieved her of
such cares, Eva herself did the packing. When she had finished she led
the weeping Katterle to her uncle, that she might beg for mercy upon her
lover.
The magistrate was thoroughly aware of the course of affairs, and talked
to the maid with the gentle manner, pervaded with genuine kindness of
heart, which was one of his characteristics. Biberli had already been
subjected to an examination by torture; but even on the rack he had
not said one word about his betrothed bride, and had resolutely denied
everything which could criminate his master. A second trial awaited him
on the morrow, but the magistrate promised to do all in his power to
obtain the mildest possible sentence for him. At any rate, like all
whose blood was shed by a legal sentence, he would be sent to Schweinau
to be cured, and as Katterle would accompany Eva there, she could find
an opportunity of nursing her betrothed husband herself.
With these words he dismissed the girl, but when again alone with
his wife he admitted to her that the poor fellow might easily fare
badly--nay, might even lose his tongue--if on the rack, which was one
of the instruments of torture to which he must again be subjected, he
confessed having forced his way into the house of an “Honourable” at
night. True, the fact that in doing so he had only followed his master,
would mitigate the offence. He must bind the judges to secrecy, should
it prove impossible to avoid the necessity of informing them of Eva’s
somnambulism. If the sentence were very severe, he might perhaps be
able to delay its execution. Sir Heinz Schorlin, who stood high in the
Emperor’s favour, would then be asked to apply to the sovereign to annul
it, or at any rate to impose a lighter punishment.
Here he was interrupted by his nieces and Cordula, and soon after
Frau Christine went out with Els to go to the Eysvogels. Herr Pfinzing
remained with the others.
A personage of no less distinction than the Duchess Agnes had complained
to him of the reckless countess. Only yesterday she had ridden into the
forest with her father, and when the young Bohemian princess met her,
Cordula’s dogs had assailed her skittish Arabian so furiously that it
would have been difficult for a less practised rider to keep her seat
in the saddle. This time the docile animals had refused to obey their
mistress, and the duchess expressed the suspicion that she had not
intended to call them off; for, though she had carelessly apologised,
she asked, as if the words were a gibe, if there was anything more
delightful than to curb a refractory steed. She had an answer ready for
Cordula, however, and retorted that the disobedience of her dogs proved
that, if she understood how to obtain from horses what she called the
greatest delight, she certainly failed in the case of other living
creatures. She therefore offered her royal condolence on the subject.
Then she remarked to the magistrate that the incident had occurred in
the imperial forest where, as she understood, the unrestricted wandering
of strange hunting dogs was prohibited. Therefore, in future, Countess
von Montfort might be required to leave hers at home when she rode to
the woods.
The magistrate now brought the complaint to the person against whom it
was made, adopting a merry jesting tone, in which Cordula gaily joined.
When the old gentleman asked whether she had previously angered the
irritable princess, she answered laughing, “The saints have hitherto
denied to the wife of the Emperor’s son, as well as to other girls of
thirteen or fourteen, the blessing of children, so she likes to play
with dolls. She chanced to prefer the same one for which she saw me
stretch out my hands.”
The old magistrate vainly sought to understand this jest; but Eva knew
whom the countess meant by the doll, and it grieved her to see two women
hostile to each other, seeking to amuse themselves with one who bore
so little resemblance to a toy, and to whom she looked up with all the
earnestness of a soul kindled by the deepest passion.
While the magistrate and the countess were gaily arguing and jesting
together she sat silent, and the others did not disturb her.
After a long time Frau Christine returned. Traces of tears were plainly
visible, though she had tried, whilst in the sedan-chair, to efface
them. The scenes which Els had experienced at the Eysvogels’ had
certainly been far worse than she had feared--nay, the old countess’s
attack upon her was so insulting, Frau Rosalinde’s helpless grief and
Herr Casper’s condition were so pitiable, that she had thought seriously
of bringing the poor girl back with her, and removing her from these
people who, she was sure, would make Els’s life a torment as soon as she
herself had gone.
The grandmother’s enquiry whether Jungfrau Ortlieb expected to find her
Swiss gallant there, and similar insolent remarks, seemed fairly steeped
with rancour.
What a repulsive spectacle the old woman, utterly bereft of dignity,
presented as with solemn mockery she courtesied to Els again and again,
as if announcing herself her most humble servant; but the poor child
kept silence until Frau Christine herself spoke, and assigned her niece
to the place beside Herr Casper’s sick-bed, which no one else could fill
so well.
Stillness reigned in this chamber, and Els scarcely had occasion to
dread much disturbance, for the countess had been strictly forbidden to
enter the sufferer’s room. Frau Rosalinde seemed to fear the sight
of the helpless man, and the Sister of Charity was a strong, resolute
woman, who welcomed Els with sincere cordiality, and promised Frau
Christine to let no evil befall her.
The sedan-chairs were already waiting outside, and the lady would have
gladly deferred her account of these sorrowful events until later, but
Cordula so affectionately desired to learn how her friend had fared in
her lover’s home, that she hurriedly and swiftly gratified her wish.
Speaking of the matter relieved her heart, and in a somewhat calmer mood
she was carried to Schweinau.