CHAPTER XVI.
CHANGES WROUGHT IN MANY MINDS.
Sonnenkamp felt himself set aside by the Court, or rather completely overlooked; but he could not demean himself by allowing any feeling of wounded pride to appear, therefore he omitted none of the customary salutations of respect, even when the Sovereign looked ungraciously at him. That was the regular court service, to which he was determined to accustom himself.
The day was fixed for the departure of the Prince and his retinue. Sonnenkamp stood among the other distinguished visitors, making the last salutations beside the royal coach, and received his share of the Sovereign's gracious, parting glance. The Cabinetsräthin said to him, as he was about to take his place in the second carriage,—
"Your cause stands well, in spite of the very learned and honorable Court Wolfsgarten."
The departure of the court was, to a large circle of the visitors, like the withdrawal of the bride from the marriage dance; the dancing goes on, there is an exaggerated assumption of gaiety, but the main point of interest is wanting.
Crowds of people came and went; the lively circle, of which Bella formed the centre, lost every day one or another of its members; Sonnenkamp was often obliged, against his will, to grace a departure with his offering of flowers. Bella, and Clodwig too, now prepared to depart. Eric had the satisfaction of seeing that a close attachment had been formed between Clodwig and his friend and teacher, Professor Einsiedel.
The last few days were a pleasant relief to Eric and Roland, after the life of excitement that had gone before. They took even the loss of Clodwig and Bella lightly, for they still had Professor Einsiedel. Sonnenkamp and Frau Ceres, on the contrary, were sorely out of spirits; they felt like persons who have outlived their day.
Sonnenkamp compared himself to a bouquet that has not found a purchaser. What is it at evening? It is put in water through the night; the withered flowers are pulled off the next morning, and it is again exposed for sale. Will the success be any better this time? It must be tried.
The men and women, who, as long as Bella was present had been their constant associates, now saluted them formally, and joined themselves to new comers. They often met Professor Crutius in company with a number of Americans who were at the Baths, and who almost always looked curiously at Sonnenkamp. Crutius himself hardly acknowledged his friendly greetings.
The morning fixed for departure came at last; Sonnenkamp and his retinue set off in three carriages. There were fewer friends to bid them good-bye than they had expected, yet still the carriages were adorned with flowers; there was a wreath upon the roof of Sonnenkamp's coach, and even the spokes of the wheels were twined with garlands; the postilion also wore a wreath. All had the appearance of being done by friends, but was in reality the work of Lootz.
The party breakfasted in the open air, and entered the carriages quietly from the street, without returning to the house.
Professor Einsiedel was among those who came to take leave, and, drawing Manna a little apart, he said to her in a low voice,—
"I told you in my last lecture—I beg your pardon, my dear child; I forgot I was speaking only to you. I have already told you of my desire to enter a convent, but a free convent, now that I have grown weary of life in the world, am solitary, and am inclined to finish in retirement whatever I may still be able to accomplish. But whether you, my dear child, before you have done with life, should withdraw yourself from it, is a question you ought very seriously to consider; there can be no more terrible fate than to feel your soul filled with all manner of unrest when you have taken the vow to consecrate yourself to the noblest thoughts. Consider it seriously, dear child; I speak only from my interest in your welfare, my heartfelt interest," said the little man, in a voice, broken with emotion.
"I know it, and I believe you," answered Manna. The tears stood in her eyes, and two big drops fell upon the flowers she held in her hand.
Roland came up to them and took off his hat to the Professor, who, laying his hand on the boy's head, said,—
"Keep on well, and remember that you too have a friend in me."
Roland was too much moved to speak; he could only kiss the old man's delicate childlike hand. The people at a distance looked on in amazement. The postilion blew his horn till he started the echoes in mountain and valley. With no decisive point gained, they left the place where they had experienced so much that was painful and pleasant.
The carriage rolled on for a long time without a word being spoken; at last Roland said softly to Eric:—
"Now I have a grandfather too."
Eric remained silent. Roland's attention was attracted by the flowers that strewed the road; not only withered flowers, but fresh bunches also that had been thrown after the departing guests, and now lay in the street to be crushed under the carriage wheels. He was reminded of Manna's complaint at the waste of flowers here, and thought how just it was.
Manna sat buried in thought. She had come to the Baths only for the sake of being with her family, yet in no one of the party had such a vital change been effected. But she did not own it yet even to herself. She silently folded her hands and prayed.
They reached the station.
"Hear the whistle of the engine!" said Roland. "I feel that we are already at home, now I hear that whistle, don't you? We seem to have been in a different world where that sound never reaches. I hope we shall find all right at home."
Eric rejoiced in Roland's animation, and told him they must keep up good courage if they did find some things changed. They would not let anything spoil the pleasure of their getting home again.