Alan, totally unmoved, went on in the same tone of careless inquiry, which, in spite of its low-voiced resemblance to ordinary conversation, would have told any listener that he did not believe a word Franz had said:
“That’s very good of him. Not much hunting around here now, I suppose, so he looks you up often?”
Again Franz paused before replying and again Lucy wondered if Alan’s German honestly puzzled him. But now the woodcutter listened intently, as though he dared not lose one of the Britisher’s words nor fail to answer:
“Yes, mein Herr. He comes here sometimes, not so often. I met him in the woods to-day.” This last was spoken with an air of conscious candor, as though Alan must now see that he concealed nothing. “As for the hunting, there are rabbits, and a few birds. The gentleman has simple tastes.”
“What, the chance of potting rabbits keeps him wandering through these woods day after day? As well tell me he’s fallen in love with Adelheid,” exclaimed Alan, staring into the German’s face with open disbelief.
Franz now showed signs of great uneasiness. His lips were pressed together in a sort of angry bewilderment. Whether it was in real alarm or merely that he was obliged to suppress his ill-humor Lucy was uncertain, but she could not endure to sit there any longer and said to Alan with vehemence, “Let’s go.”
She put Adelheid off her knees and rose just as Trudchen shuffled into the room, wrapped as usual in a ragged shawl over her cotton dress, her hair in flaxen wisps, her face tired, troubled and red-eyed from recent tears.
“Good-day, gnädige Fräulein,” she said, smiling faintly at Lucy, and giving Alan a short curtsey. “Forgive me for delaying. I have my Friedrich sick and I was putting him in bed.”
“I’m sorry. What can I do?” asked Lucy, forgetting Franz.
“Nothing, I thank you. He needs only to be warm and quiet. Will you not sit down?”