"A few hours later a carriage drove into the court. I recognized StÜrmer's livery, and from my chamber window saw Brockelmann help out the old actress, hardly with the haste of anticipation.

"'There, we really ought to have just such a sort of mother-in-law in the house!' I whispered, and smiled bitterly; but tear after tear fell on my lilac cap-strings. Like misfortune itself, the old woman came up the steps. Ah! Klaus, Klaus, whither have you gone astray?' Our whole family seemed to me unspeakably fallen in this moment, and I could do nothing in the unfortunate affair, but only try to raise Susanna to us, to keep her away from everything which might remind her of the folly, of the frivolity of the sphere from which she sprang; again and again to point out to her what a rich, fair lot had fallen to her; to make her comprehend that the wife of a Hegewitz must also be a pattern of dignity and noble womanhood. I should have much preferred to bundle Isabella Pfannenschmidt into the carriage again, to send her to some place miles away, and against my will I was going out of my door, when I heard her slow, shuffling step in the hall.

"'Please, ma'm'selle, come into my room a minute before you go to Susanna,' I said to her. Frankly confessed, I do not know myself why I did it; but I felt instinctively that I must speak with her first, before she learned the latest turn in Susanna's fate from her own lips.

"The small person came slowly over the threshold, looking at me distrustfully. She seemed to me infinitely wretched in her rumpled bonnet and threadbare silk cloak, her face yellower than ever, and sunken, and she was somewhat bent, as if still suffering pain. She sat down in the nearest chair, and looked at me with her sharp, sullen eyes. I stood before her and tried to speak, yet no word passed my lips. All the craft, all the low sentiments which flashed out of those small eyes toward me reminded me anew of the sort of atmosphere in which Susanna had grown up. I had been walking up and down the room with these thoughts; now I took a seat opposite the old woman, who had silently followed me with her eyes. I wanted to tell her that a great, great happiness had befallen Susanna, and found no words for it. It seemed as if I were choked.

"'I would like to inform you,' I began, hesitatingly, but I got no farther, for Anna Maria came in. 'Dear aunt,' said she, 'I have to speak with Isabella Pfannenschmidt a moment.' I drew a breath of relief, and went into the adjoining room.

"Then I heard Anna Maria's sonorous voice. She spoke of a great piece of good fortune that had come to Susanna, and said that she hoped Susanna would reward so much love, such infinite trust, with all her powers, in order to make the man happy who offered her a name, a home, and a heart.

"Tears came into my eyes again; there was something in Anna Maria's voice that pained me infinitely. I pictured to myself the proud maiden before the vagabond actress, to whom she was now speaking as to an equal. That which I had considered impossible now happened, out of love to her brother. Now I thought the old woman must break out in an ecstasy of joy; I shuddered already at the thought of the theatrical glorification in her darling's good fortune. Far from it; she spoke quietly and coolly. I could not understand her, but it sounded like a murmur of discontent.

"'I do not comprehend you,' Anna Maria said, now icily; 'if I have rightly understood my brother's letter, Susanna gave her assent on the evening when she fled to you. What? Is she, meanwhile, to have changed her mind?'

"Again a murmur; then I heard disconnected words between the old woman's sobs: 'Defence—true love—' and so forth. This homeless woman was as pretentious as a ruling princess making arrangements to give her daughter in marriage to a man of a lower class.

"Then I heard her leave the room. When I reËntered Anna Maria was standing at the window, her forehead pressed against the panes, her clenched hand rested on the window-sill, and her lips were tightly closed.

"'Anna Maria,' said I, 'this person must leave the house.'

"'Klaus may decide that,' she replied, gently; 'I have no longer any voice in this matter.'

"'She is an arrogant thing!' I continued, in my wrath.

"Anna Maria turned. 'Ah, aunt,' said she, 'the old woman loves Susanna like a mother, and such a relative naturally asks, in respect to the most brilliant match: "Will it be for the child's happiness?" I ought not to have taken it amiss; it was unjust in me.'

"I pressed her hand softly. Anna Maria's noble sentiments sprang forth in her pain, like flowers after rain. God grant that she was right in her excuse!

"Half an hour afterward, Isabella Pfannenschmidt came in with Susanna, whose eyes were red with weeping, and hair dishevelled. Isabella led her to Anna Maria, and Susanna made a motion as if to take her hand, but her own fell to her side again, and so, for a moment, the two girls, so unlike, stood opposite each other. Anna Maria had turned pale, to her very lips; then she put her arm about Susanna's delicate shoulders, and drew her to herself. But Susanna slid to the floor, and, sobbing, embraced her knees; it seemed as if she wished to ask forgiveness for a heavy offence, but not a word passed her lips. She only looked up at Anna Maria, with an expression which I shall never forget my life long, she seemed so true in those few moments. But before Anna Maria could stoop to raise the girl, Isabella had already pulled her up with the sharp, quick words: 'Susanna, be sensible!'

"Did the old woman consider prostration before the sister of the future husband too much devotion, or did she fear that thereby her darling was subordinating herself, once for all, to the sister's strict rÉgime? I could not decide at the time; I did not know till later that this moment was a fearful crisis in Susanna's heart.

"The next three days passed quietly. Anna Maria had given Isabella a little room next Susanna's, had told her Klaus's plans for his wedding; and the old woman agreed to all the arrangements without a word of opposition, but without showing any joy either. The sewing for the trousseau was to be begun immediately after the harvest festival. Isabella had arranged a cushion for lace-making, and under her thin, skilful fingers grew filmy lace of the finest thread—'for the wedding toilet!' she said softly to me.

"Susanna's manner was quite altered; she unsociably avoided not only our company, but Isa's as well. Meanwhile the old woman seemed little concerned that her darling ran about half the day in the wood and garden, looked pale, and ate little or nothing, and now and then started up impetuously from her quiet, absorbed state, looking about with terrified eyes. 'That is the way with people in love,' she would say in excuse, with a peculiar smile, if I worried about Susanna's pale looks.

"In a few days there came a letter from Klaus for Susanna. I went up-stairs to give it to her. The first love-letter, a wonder in every girl's life! With beating heart it is opened, read in the most secret corner, kissed a thousand times, and kept forever. After long years there still rises from such a yellow, crumpled paper a faint odor of roses; a blush flits over the wrinkled cheeks, the dimmest eyes shine once more in recollection of the hour when they first fell on those lines. I was in quite a festive mood. What might not be enclosed in that blue envelope? All the love, all the trust, all the true, noble sentiment that could come only from such a heart as Klaus's! And all this fell like a golden rain into the lap of the little vagabond girl.

"I opened her door and looked in. Isabella sat, making lace, at the open window. Susanna lay on the sofa, her head buried in the cushions, apparently dreaming. The golden autumn sun streamed in through the trees, which were already becoming less shady, and played upon the inlaid floor, and Susanna's little kitten, with a blue ribbon around its neck, was jumping nimbly about after the bright, moving flecks.

"'Susanna, a letter from Klaus!' I cried, going to the sofa.

"She started up, and stared at me with frightened eyes, but she did not reach out for the letter in eager haste; her little hand made rather an averting gesture. Isabella, on the other hand, was standing beside me in an instant. 'A letter from the lover, Susanna!' she cried, cheerfully. 'Well, well, before I would be so affected! Quick, take and read it!' The words had a certain harsh sound, and Susanna seized the letter, took her straw hat from the nearest chair, and slipped out of the door; but it was not the joyous haste of anticipation, it looked rather like a speedy escape from Isa's sharp eyes.

"'A strange child, FrÄulein Rosamond,' said the old woman, smiling and shaking her head. 'She is different from others, God bless her!' Then she began to rummage in Susanna's bureau, and brought out a little portfolio, from which she took a sheet of gilt-edged paper, with a bird-of-paradise with outstretched wings, sitting on a rose, on the upper left-hand corner, and arranged blotter, pen, and ink-stand. 'She will want to write immediately, when she has read the letter,' she explained, 'and a first love-letter like that is not easy, for one dips in the pen a hundred times, and still what one would like to say does not come.'

"I went away with the thought that Susanna would know well enough what to write. When the heart speaks, the pen is easily guided. Anna Maria had a great deal to do on this day; the animals were to be killed for the harvest festival. In the housekeeping rooms a restless activity reigned. Marieken was required to help, as on all such occasions, and Brockelmann had poured the flour to be used in cooking for the festival into a great tray in the baking-room. Anna Maria was in the storeroom; I found her sitting on a great sugar-firkin, with a slate in her hands; at her feet lay the scales with different weights, and Brockelmann was just bringing great bowls of raisins and sugar to be weighed for the cakes. Anna Maria wore, as usual, her great white housekeeping apron over her simple dress; her fair hair lay, smooth as a mirror, in luxuriant plaits on her beautifully shaped head; her sleeves, being pushed up a little, exposed her white arms; not a blemish on the whole appearance, from the lace-trimmed mull kerchief about her shoulders to the shapely foot in the little laced shoe. Would Susanna ever practise household duties thus?

"Never! That princess, that will-o'-the-wisp, with the curly hair and little, childish hands! But would Anna Maria remain here forever? Lost in thought, I stood for a moment at the door of the cool cellar. Anna Maria drew a line below her figures, laid the slate aside, and took up a letter. 'From Klaus,' she said, as she caught sight of me. 'I will read it by and by in my room.' On the table lay another letter, significantly smaller than the first, and already opened. Anna Maria noticed that my eyes rested on it a moment, questioningly.

"'StÜrmer announces his coming to the harvest festival,' she explained, bending forward quickly and putting something on the table. When she raised her head again a slight flush still lay on her cheeks.

"'You have accepted, Anna Maria?'

"'Yes,' she said, quickly; 'I think it is only right to Klaus.'

"'Klaus has written to Susanna too,' said I; 'did you know it?'

"She quivered, noticeably. 'No,' she replied, 'but that must be.'

"'She has run, the Lord knows where, with her treasure,' I continued, smiling; 'she will probably answer it to-day, too.'

"Anna Maria nodded. 'We will go up,' she said; 'I would like to read, too.' We went through the busy kitchen and up the stairs. Anna Maria went at once to her room, and I to the upper story, to seek my own room. In the hall I stopped; the sound of Susanna's sobbing came to my ear, and the indignant voice of the old woman:

"'For shame, Susanna!'

"'No, I cannot, I will not!' sobbed the girl.

"They had forgotten to latch the door; I slipped nearer, but did not understand Isabella's hissing whisper, nevertheless.

"'No, no!' cried Susanna again, but with little resistance. Fresh whispering, then a kiss. 'My little hare, my Susy, it may all be yet; now the thing is, to put a good face on the bad game!' in genuine Berlin speech. 'Now at it; you are brave!'

"An icy chill crept over me, even to my heart; I could not account for it to myself. But I was in no mood then to open the door, and went to my room with the consciousness that something wrong, something mysterious, was going on over there.

"An hour later Isabella came to me with a letter. 'Here it is,' said she proudly. 'Susanna is ready with her pen, she gets it from her father, and all that she says in this is beautiful. It is a shame that you haven't read it, FrÄulein; how pleased Klaus will be.'

"'Herr von Hegewitz!' I corrected, bluntly.

"'Pardon!' returned Isabella, 'the name came so easily to my lips; I have heard it so often from Susanna that——'

"'Very well!' I interrupted. 'Now, to return to the letter; it almost sounds as if you knew the contents. I hope Susanna does not conduct her correspondence under your direction!'

"Isabella Pfannenschmidt grew crimson. 'Heaven forbid!' she said, casting an angry glance at me. 'Susanna only spoke in a general way of what she was going to write, to tell him how grateful she is and how honored and how she loves him.'

"'I do not wish to know anything about it,' I replied, coldly. 'I only expect of Susanna that she will not allow all that she has to say to-day to her lover—something which, it seems to me, should be as sacred as a prayer—to be desecrated by meddling eyes.'

"Isabella smiled in embarrassment; she evidently did not understand me. 'To whom can I give this letter,' she asked, 'to send it to the post-office?'

"'Leave it here; I will see that it is put into the mail-bag,' I replied. When I went down later, I found Susanna sitting motionless on a bench in the garden. She seemed to be buried in a book; but her first letter was already with a messenger, on the way to the city.

"Anna Maria had grown calmer than I expected; it seemed as if some great force had carried her half over her sorrow about Klaus. She brought me his letter at supper time; it contained warm expressions of thanks, infinite love for his sister, permeated with rapture at the possession of Susanna. The world seemed to him more beautiful than ever; he pictured to himself such a wonderful future, with Susanna, with Anna Maria. Again and again came a fervent, 'But how shall I thank you, Anna Maria, for this, that you will love my little bride as a sister? I have always known that we think an infinite deal of each other, and it seems to me as if my love for you had become even greater! Anna Maria, how I wish for you such a happiness as mine!' He added that he should be as pleased as a child at the first lines from Susanna, that he had an endless longing to come home, but, unfortunately, business made it impossible; the fatigues of the journey he would think nothing of.

"Anna Maria silently folded the letter which I returned to her, and put it in her pocket, 'Have you seen Susanna since she received her letter?' she asked.

"'No, Anna Maria.'

"'How happy she must be, aunt!'

"'I find Susanna very quiet for an engaged girl,' I replied.

"'Yes,' she agreed. 'But I cannot describe to you how infinitely better she pleases me; it is quieting to me that she does not take the matter lightly.'"