"I could not sleep that night; I rose from my bed again and sat down by
my window in the gray dawn, and my old heart was fearful for what must
come now. I loved both the children so much, and, God knows, I would
have given years of my useless life if I could have blotted out the last
few months. And I was groping about wholly in the dark, for Anna Maria
was reserved and uncommunicative, and Klaus--what would he do? He could
not come and say, 'Aunt Rosamond, I love Susanna Mattoni, and I wish to
marry her!' I should have had to throw up my hands and laugh! Klaus, the
last Hegewitz, and Susanna Mattoni, the child of an obscure actress! And
Klaus would have had to laugh with me.
"It was a rainy day, just beginning; wonderfully cool air came through
the open windows and the leaves rustled in the wind, and the rain
pattered on the roofs; the maids were running across the court with
their milk-pails, the poultry was being fed, and Brockelmann talking to
the maids, and there went the bailiff in the pasture; everything was as
usual and yet so different.
"Then a carriage came rolling into the court-yard. Heavens! that was our
own with the brown span. It stopped before the front steps, and Klaus
came out of the house and greeted the gentleman getting out. I had
leaned far out of the window, but now drew back in alarm--it was the
doctor, our old Reuter, and at this early hour! Anna Maria was my first
thought. I ran out; but no, there she was, just coming out of Susanna's
room. She still wore her blue dress of yesterday, but there were
blood-stains here and there on the large white apron.
"'Susanna?' I faltered. She nodded, and gave me her hand. 'Go in, aunt;
I wish to speak with Reuter first,' she said softly; 'Susanna is ill.'
Almost stunned, I let myself be pushed through the open door. The
curtains were drawn, but on the chimney-piece a candle was burning, and
threw its dim, flickering light on the girl's face, so that I could see
the dark fever-roses which had bloomed upon it during the night. Her
eyes were wide open, but she did not know me; she thought I was Isa.
"'Isa, I have sung, too; Isa, don't be angry; it was so beautiful in the
moonlight, and it did not hurt me at all.' And she began to sing:
"'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain--
Oh! that I only could wander again!'
"And then she passed her small hands over her white night-dress. 'Take
away the red flowers, Isa!'
"I laid a white cloth over it for her. Poor child! The swoon, the
laughing, the sweet singing, that was already fever.
"Old Reuter came into the room and stepped up to the bed. Anna Maria
stood behind him, the torment of expectation on her pale face, and from
outside, through the unlatched door, came the sound of heavy breathing;
that must be Klaus. The old gentleman felt Susanna's pulse long and
cautiously; he was not a man of many words, and one could scarcely find
out from him what one's disease was; but he turned at last to Anna
Maria:
"'A pitiful little lady, Fraeulein; the good God made her expressly for
a knick-knack table; wrapped in cotton, sent to the South, and treated
like a princess, without making any sort of exertion herself, something
might yet be made of her. But first'--he drew his watch from his pocket
and took hold of her hand again--'first we have enough to do here. Who
will undertake the nursing?'
"'Doctor, do you think that bodily exertion--I mean, very early rising
and domestic activity--could be the cause?' asked Anna Maria, with
faltering voice.
"'Up at four, and from the kitchen into the cold milk-cellar, and then
again in the glowing sun, at the bleaching place, and so alternately,
was it not?' asked the old gentleman. 'By all means the surest way to
completely prostrate a person of such a constitution; moreover, you
might have perceived it before, Fraeulein.'
"Anna Maria grew a shade paler. 'But day before yesterday she walked for
an hour in the heat, and sang a great deal,' I interposed, for I felt
sorry for Anna Maria. "'Then one thing has led to another,' declared the
old gentleman. 'Singing is poison--no more of that! Will you undertake
the nursing, Fraeulein Hegewitz?' he asked me.
"'No, I,' replied Anna Maria.
"'Isa! Isa!' called Susanna.
"'Where is she staying?' asked Anna Maria, while Dr. Reuter had gone out
to write a prescription.
"'In Dambitz,' I returned, oppressed; but she did not look at all
surprised. She only begged me to stay with Susanna till she had changed
her dress, and sent a messenger to the old woman. Then she came back, so
as not to stay long away from Susanna's bed, for, strangely enough,
Mademoiselle Isa Pfannenschmidt did not appear.
"Anna Maria had sent Brockelmann in a carriage to fetch the old woman.
Meanwhile Susanna pushed Anna Maria away with her weak hands, and called
'Isa!' incessantly in her delirium. With a white face Anna Maria pushed
her chair behind the curtains and listened to the low, eager whispering
of the sick girl. But once the surging blood shot from neck to brow, as
Susanna spoke of Klaus, and Anna Maria turned her eyes almost
reproachfully toward the door, behind which a light step had just
stopped.
"That was surely Klaus again; certainly twenty times during the day he
came to the door to listen; yet who could have closed the little red
mouth which had just called his name again, quite aloud, and laughed,
and talked of bonbons, of moonlight, and of songs?
"On the way to my room I met Brockelmann, who had just returned, and was
standing in the corridor by Klaus. Her face was very red; she pointed to
my room, and here began to describe, in a voice half-choked with
indignation, all that she had found in the dwelling of the old comedian,
excepting herself. The blacksmith's wife had told her she had lately
boiled some red pomade, and put it in a number of little porcelain jars,
and taken them away to sell. She would often go away so, and be gone a
fortnight. 'She is an old vagabond,' added Brockelmann, 'a beggar-woman
whom the constable ought to shut up in the nearest tower!' And with a
contemptuous air she drew forth one of the little boxes in question,
which was correctly tied up with gold paper, and bore a label which
explained at length the red pomade and its value: '_Rouge de Theatre,
premiere qualite!_'
"'Paint!' said I, smiling.
"'And for these sinful wares she gets a pile of money,' continued the
old woman, 'and what does she do with it? She eats cakes and chocolate,
and the children at the forge run about with gay silk ribbons on their
rough pig-tails; and all around in the corners there were heaps of
knick-knacks, enough for ten fools to trim up their caps with. It is a
shame!'
"'When is she coming back?' asked Klaus.
"'The Lord only knows; she went away yesterday.' Brockelmann turned to
go, irritated by her vain mission, which had taken so much time. But she
stopped at the door, and a friendly expression lay on her face. 'I am
charged with best greetings from the Herr Baron,' she said; 'he was not
a little surprised to see me looking into his garden from the old
woman's window; I explained to him shortly what brought me there.'
"'Is the house so near the castle garden?' I asked.
"Brockelmann nodded. 'Yes, indeed, the old woman sees the whole
beautiful garden; and what a garden!' With that she went out.
"'It is well, on the whole,' said Klaus, after a pause, 'that the old
woman is not there. But will Brockelmann be able to nurse her?'
"'No,' I replied, 'Anna Maria.'
"'Anna Maria?' he asked, and his lip quivered.
"'Klaus,' I begged, 'don't humbug your own self. You must be convinced
in your inmost heart that this girl could not have a better nurse than
Anna Maria.'
"'I have been perplexed about her,' he answered gloomily.
"'And she about you!' I replied.
"He grew red. 'For what reason?' he asked. 'Because I took this girl
under the protection of my house? Because I interfered with an
over-taxation of her strength? Because----' he broke on.
"'Anna Maria fears that--well, that _la petite_ will be too much
spoiled,' I replied.
"Klaus shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, and now?' he asked. 'Listen, aunt,
I thought nothing in the world could alter me; I thought I had become a
calm, quiet man; but every nerve has twitched since I have been
compelled to see how this girl is treated. Once, as a little boy, I
looked on, powerless with rage, to see two great boys tormenting a
may-bug; they had climbed a tree because I had scratched and bitten
them; my small limbs would not carry me up there, but the dumb fury, the
rising tumult in my childish heart, I have never forgotten to this day;
and I felt exactly the same way when I heard those little feet tripping
here and there about the house--on, on, now on the kitchen-stairs, now
in the corridor. Do you not suppose I could see how they kept growing
more and more weary, and what a mighty effort they made when Anna
Maria's merciless voice called, "Here, Susanna!" or "_Venez donc_,
Susanna!" "Quickly, we will go into the milk-cellar!" "Susanna, where is
the key of the linen-press?" I was a coward to endure it, not to have
interfered till it was too late. Great heavens! it shall be different,'
he cried, and his clenched fist fell threateningly on the table. The
great, strong man was beside himself with anxiety and rage.
"I did not venture to answer, and after a few minutes he left the room.
I heard him lingering again at Susanna's door, and then go away softly.
The misfortune was here! Poor Anna Maria! Poor Klaus!
"Toward noon Anna Maria came to me, even paler than before. 'She talks
incessantly of Klaus,' she said slowly. 'I knew that it must come, but
Klaus did not understand me. She loves him, aunt, believe me.'
"My thoughts were so full of Klaus that I said, quite consistently: 'And
he loves her!'
"Anna Maria did not understand me aright. 'What did you say, aunt?' she
asked, the weariness all gone from her eyes.
"'I said Klaus is tenderly inclined toward Susanna Mattoni,' I repeated
boldly.
"The girl broke into a smile--nay, she even laughed--and I saw her firm
white teeth shine for the first time for many a day; then she grew
grave. 'How can you joke now, aunt?'
"'_Mais, mon ange_, I am not joking,' I replied warmly. Anna Maria
puzzled me; she must have noticed it for a long time; then why was she
so opposed to the child?
"'You are not joking, aunt?' she asked icily. 'Then you little
understand how to judge Klaus. Klaus, with his cool reason, his calm
nature, he who might have had a wife any day if he had wished, should
care for this child--it is ridiculous, perfectly ridiculous!'
"'But, Anna Maria, are you so blind?' I cried.
"'I am not blind,' she replied, with one of her glances which showed
plainly her contempt of my opinion. 'Not till I see the two come,
united, out of the church will I believe that Klaus loves her, and that,
Aunt Rosamond, neither you nor I will live to see.'
"'Stop, Anna Maria!' I begged. 'It is, of course, possible that I am
mistaken, but--God grant that you are right,' I added.
"Anna Maria was silent for a moment. 'No,' she said then, as if to
herself, lifting up her arms--'no, Klaus is not capable of such an
error. I believe in Klaus. His kind heart, his compassion for the
orphan, impel him to be hard toward me; our opinions as to Susanna's
welfare are so contrary. But I know, aunt, that Klaus loves me so much,
that I stand before any other in his heart, so I will gladly bear the
harshness; perhaps he has borne something harder for my sake. When
Susanna is gone we shall find the old good-will back again.'
"'I do not believe that Susanna will go away, will be allowed to go
away,' I threw in, uncertainly, touched by her confidence.
"Her eyes shone. 'Leave that to me, Aunt Rosa,' she replied; 'she
_shall_ go, take my word for it.'
"'And if you vex Klaus afresh by such a demand?'
"'Klaus desires Susanna's best good, and he will find some other place
for her as soon as he learns that he is not an object of indifference to
her. Klaus is a man of honor, and a glance will suffice.'
"'What, Anna Maria?' I groaned; 'you would inform him that--that----'
"'Yes,' she replied.
"'I beg you, Anna Maria, do not do it; do not pour oil on the fire, my
child; be silent----'
"'Never, aunt; I have been silent too long already!' she said decidedly.
'I saw it coming on, it had to come, and I had not the courage to warn
Klaus, and say: "Protect this child from the saddest thing that can come
to a maiden's heart; do not let it awaken into a first love, which must
then be renounced."'
"'Anna Maria, for Heaven's sake,' I implored, 'how do you know so
certainly that Susanna no longer regards Klaus with indifference? You
cannot take her feverish talk for anything positive. She talks about
Stuermer as well as Klaus. I beg you, keep silent. It is only a
conjecture of yours; Susanna may be in a state of uncertainty still,
herself.'
"'A precocious, passionate nature, like that girl's?' she asked, and
went to the door, about to leave; 'there is nothing uncertain there. I
owe it to her.'
"'Anna Maria, let her get well first; it is over-hasty, and may make a
dreadful jumble!'
"She did not answer, but gave me a nod that agreed with her earnest
look, and then left me alone with my thoughts.
"How sorry I was for her, this young maiden with the heart of an old
woman! How this firm confidence in Klaus touched me! I had expected a
little jealousy from her, had supposed that Susanna's appearance seemed
dangerous enough to her to rob her of her brother's heart; but nothing
of all this--that she wished to preserve the girl's peace of mind. She
believed in Klaus with a firm, unshaken trust. 'I know that I stand
before all others in his heart, only our opinions about Susanna differ
widely.' Klaus was a man of honor, Klaus could not marry Susanna; it lay
beyond the reach of possibility! A love without this final end was not
conceivable to her pure mind; of a passion which could outreach all
bounds she seemed to have no foreboding. It did not occur to her to
consider her brother's altered manner, his hasty vehemence of the day
before, as anything but the expression of his lively anxiety about an
orphaned child, as excessive chivalry, as a justified irritation at her
energetic opposition; but if she had only first spoken----
"Ah, me! My old head showed me no outlet. What should I do, with whom
speak? Neither of them could judge of the matter as it lay now; the only
remaining way was to appeal to Susanna's maidenly pride. But dared I?
Had I the right to contrive an intrigue behind Klaus's back? For,
although I meant well, still it was an intrigue. And suppose that I did
tread this by-way, what certainty was there that it would lead to the
goal? And how, after all, should I tread it?
"Susanna's illness was violent but brief. The delirium had ceased by the
next day, but she lay very feeble for a week after, without speaking or
showing interest in anything. But her great eyes continually followed
Anna Maria, as she moved noiselessly about the sick-room. Anna Maria's
manner toward Susanna was altered; there was a certain gentleness and
tenderness about her that became her wonderfully well. Whether it was
sympathy with the invalid, or whether she wanted to show the girl whom
she had wished to send away from the shelter of her home that she
cherished no ill-will toward her, I do not know; at any rate, she took
care of her like a loving mother.
"After about a week Susanna raised her head, begged to have the windows
opened, and showed an appetite; and when the doctor came he found her
sitting up in bed, eating with excellent appetite the prescribed
convalescent's dish, a broth of young pigeons.
"'Bravo!' cried the gay little man, 'keep on so! A small glass of
Bordeaux, too, would do no harm.'
"'And to-morrow I shall get up!' cried Susanna.
"'Not to-morrow; and day after to-morrow I shall inspect you again
before you do it,' answered the doctor.
"Susanna laughed, and then, with the pleasant feeling of returning
health, lay back on the pillows, took a hundred-leaved rose from the
bunch of flowers which Klaus sent daily through Anna Maria, to be placed
by the sick-bed, and asked--what! did I hear aright? Horrified, I turned
my head away and looked for Anna Maria; fortunately, she had gone out
with the doctor--and asked: 'Has Klaus--Herr von Hegewitz--ever inquired
for me?' And as she spoke her dark eyes flashed beneath the long lashes.
"'Oh, yes, Susanna, but he is very much occupied with the harvesting
now,' I said deceitfully, 'and he knows you are having the best of
care.'
"She nodded. 'And has not Herr von Stuermer been here? Did he not know
that I was ill?'
"'Stuermer? Yes, I think he has been here frequently,' I replied.
"'And hasn't he asked at all how I was?' she questioned me further.
"'You are assuming, _ma mignonne_!' said I, irritated. 'He has inquired
for you, perhaps--yes, I remember--nothing more.'
"'How ungallant!' whispered Susanna, sulkily. At that moment the door
opened and Brockelmann entered with a little basket of choice apricots,
with a fresh rosebud placed here and there among them.
"'An expression of regard from Baron von Stuermer, who sent his wishes
for the Fraeulein's improvement, hoping that she might like to eat the
fruit.' With these words the basket was set down rather roughly on the
table beside the bed. The old woman's glance met mine, and in her eyes
was plainly to be read: 'Well, let anybody who can understand such a
state of affairs; I can't!' But Susanna, with a cry of joy, had seized
the basket, and buried her nose in the flowers, inhaling their spicy
odor. Then she rested it on her knees, put her delicate arms around it,
leaned her head on the dainty handle, and with a happy smile closed her
eyes, and thus Anna Maria found her. She frowned at this ecstasy. 'It
is very kind of Stuermer,' she said, quietly; 'he always shows such
delicate attentions when he knows any one to be ill and suffering.' Then
she rang for a plate and silver fruit-knife. 'Give them to me, Susanna;
I will prepare some of the beautiful fruit for you.'"