And makes the truth prevail—
What joy that gives!
If only one man press
Silent our hands,
What happiness
To know he understands!
(Hermann Lingg.)
For a long while Franka remained buried in the perusal of the old notebook. At last, she put herself to making an outline of her coming address. She wrote down a few notes, but could not seem to warm up to the work, and she accepted as a welcome diversion the arrival of the morning mail. As usual, she received a great number of letters and documents. Dr. Fixstern regularly sent her reports regarding the condition of the property entrusted to him. The directors of the Garlett Academy kept her informed of the progress of this flourishing institution. Enthusiastic letters from young girls came every day, and there were numerous requests for autographs. On this morning there was in addition the offer of an impresario who wanted her to undertake a lecture tournée through the United States; not to speak of a declaration of love from a silent admirer present at the Rose-Week’s exercises and moved to send her a few lyric effusions. This time her whole mail made a particularly arid impression on Franka. It seemed to her so lifeless and soulless. But now her duty was to proceed with writing down the lecture—it was already eleven o’clock. She pushed the half-written page into position before her.... No, she could not master her thoughts.... She needed advice, needed warm, living words. She got up and pressed the electric button. “Please,” she said to the servant who answered her summons, “see if Mr. Helmer is in, and if he is, I should like to have him come to see me.”
After a moment the servant came back: “Mr. Helmer has just this moment come.”
“Very good, ask him into the salon.”