Lenz accompanied his uncle to his house—a large handsome building, in which no one lived but himself. The door opened of itself as if by magic, for the maid was obliged to be on the watch, and to open the door before her master had time to knock.
Lenz said—"Good bye!" to his uncle, who thanked him, yawning.
The young man was glad when he was again seated at his work the same afternoon. The house, which had seemed so desolate that he thought he could not possibly continue to live in it, now appeared to him once more like home—no real rest or peace is to be found in amusement elsewhere—a man is only really happy at home. He looked for a place to hang up his mother's picture; the best was just above his father's file, for there she could look down on him as he worked, and he could often look up at her.
"Mind you have the room tidy!" said Lenz to Franzl, who, with just indignation, replied—"It is always tidy!" Lenz did not choose to say that he had his own reasons for wishing it to be in particularly good order, for every hour he expected a visit from Annele and her mother, to see and hear his large clock, before it went forth into the wide world. Then he was resolved to ask her, in a straightforward manner—the straight way is always the best—whether the report about her and the Techniker had any foundation. He cannot tell, indeed, what gives him any right to ask such a question; but he feels that he must do so, and then he can talk to her in his own way, just as he may choose. Day after day passed and Annele did not come; and Lenz often went past the "Lion," but without going in, or even looking up at the window.
CHAPTER XI.
THE GREAT CLOCK PLAYS ITS MELODIES, AND
FRESH ONES ARE ADDED.
It was quite an event in the valley when the news was circulated that the large, handsome clock—the "Magic Flute," as it was called, made by Lenz of the Morgenhalde—was to be sent off in the course of a few days to its destination in Russia. It attracted a perfect pilgrimage to Lenz's house—every one wished to admire the fine instrument before it left the country for ever. Franzl had a great deal to do in welcoming all the people, and shaking hands with them—first wiping her hands carefully on her apron—and then escorting them a little way. There were not chairs enough in the house, for all the people who came to sit down at the same time.
Even uncle Petrowitsch condescended to come, and he not only brought Büble with him—for that was a matter of course—but Ibrahim, Petrowitsch's companion at cards—of whom people said that, during his fifty years' absence from home, he had become a Turk. The two old men said little; Ibrahim sat still and smoked his long Turkish pipe, and moved his eyebrows up and down; Petrowitsch fidgeted round him, just as Büble fidgeted round Petrowitsch. For Ibrahim was the only man who had a certain influence over Petrowitsch, which he only retained because he rarely exercised it. He would listen to no man who applied to him to obtain any favour from Petrowitsch. They played cards together for whole evenings, each paying his losses on the spot; and the restless, lively disposition of Ibrahim made Petrowitsch more polite and complaisant; and here, in the old family house, Petrowitsch seemed, in some degree, inclined to assist his nephew in doing the honours.
While the clock was playing a grand piece, Petrowitsch stood beside the work bench, examining everything that lay there or hung on the wall. At last he took down the well known file, with its worn handle. When the piece was finished, he said to Lenz—"This is your father's file, is it not?"