Lenz gazed long and mournfully at the beloved features. His eyes were swimming in tears, but still he continued to look at the picture. "So long as I have the use of my eyes I can now always see you, but I shall never hear you again. Oh! that I could but hear your voice once more! Oh! that we could but recall the voice of the dead!" He could scarcely prevail on himself to leave the room. It seemed so strange to leave his mother thus alone, looking at him as he went out, and no eyes meeting hers....
He did not go away till darkness set in, so that he could no longer see; and on his way he said to himself—"Now it is time that lamentation should cease. I can cherish my grief within my own heart, but the world shall not say that I don't bear it like a man." He heard the sound of music as he passed the Doctor's house. The windows were open, and a man was singing foreign songs in a fine baritone voice: it was not a voice belonging to the village. Who can it be? Whoever it is, he sings well.
He heard the stranger say, "Now, Mademoiselle Bertha, I hope you will sing me something."
"No, Herr Starr, I cannot just now; we must soon go to supper, and we can sing a duett afterwards. Look through this music in the mean time."
This allusion to supper, and the resolution he had formed to enjoy life again, seemed to awaken a good appetite in Lenz, and he forthwith determined to go to the "Golden Lion;" so he went towards the village with a quick and firm step.
"Oh, Lenz, good evening! How good of you to think of your friends, even in your sorrow!" said the landlady. "I mentioned your name only a few minutes since, and if you had been here today, you would have heard that all those who have been going in and out during the day, were talking of you. I am sure your cheeks must have been burning! Yes, my good Lenz, you will meet with your reward even in this world, for your admirable conduct to your excellent mother. And you know that your mother and I were always the best of friends; though it is true we did not see much of each other, for she disliked leaving her own house, and so did I. Will you have a pint of new wine or old? I advise the new, for it is particularly good and not so heating. You look red and flushed: to be sure, after losing such a mother, it is but natural. I don't say it is not, but——;" and the good woman waved her hand, as if emotion choked her voice.
At last, after placing the glass and bottle on the table, she resumed:—"What can we do?—we are all mortal. Your mother was seventy five years old—a full sheaf of years, indeed; and very possibly I may be called away tomorrow in my turn, just like your mother. With God's help, I, too, will leave a good name to my children. No one, indeed, can be compared with your mother. But may I give you a piece of advice?—I mean it well, believe me."
"Yes, yes—I am always glad to get good advice."
"I only wished to say, that I know you are tender hearted, but you must not allow yourself to be overwhelmed with grief. You don't take this amiss, I hope?"
"Certainly not. What is there that I could take amiss in it? On the contrary, I did not know till now, how many true friends my mother had, and that they intend to continue their friendship to her son."