Annele left the room with the child.
The Doctor came in.
"As I feared, so, alas, it is! Your uncle will do nothing—absolutely nothing. He says that he tried to dissuade you from marrying, and takes his ground on that point. I tried every persuasion, but all in vain. He almost told me to leave the house."
"Is it possible?—and on my account too! The dreadful thing is, that whoever is friendly to me, or wishes to do me good, is sure to come in for a share of my misery. Forgive me, Herr Doctor—it was not my fault."
"I know that well! how can you speak so? I have known many men in the course of my life, but never yet such a man as your uncle. He opened his heart to me, and he has the tender heart of your family, and I thought I should be able to guide him with ease, and lead him to the point I wished like a child; but, when it came to the grand climax, money!"—the Doctor snapped his fingers;—"it was all up! no further use talking! My belief is that he really has nothing of his own; nothing but an annuity from some insurance office; but let us put him aside altogether. I have talked to both my sons. If you don't wish to enter the manufactory, you may have six or seven workpeople in your own house here, as many as you can manage, and employ them for the benefit of the manufactory."
"Do not speak so loud. My wife hears everything in the next room; and just like you with my uncle, I unfortunately foresaw what she would say. In my life I never saw her in such a state as she was, when I told her about the manufactory. She won't hear of it."
"Think it over for a time. Won't you escort me a little way?"
"Pray excuse me, for I am so tired; I really can scarcely stand, for I have not rested since four o'clock this morning; I am not much accustomed to walk so far, and I almost think I am going to be ill."
"Your pulse is feverish; but that is natural enough. If you have a good sleep tonight, you will soon be all right again; but be careful of yourself for some time. You may have a very serious attack of illness if you do not keep quiet, and spare yourself and nurse yourself. Tell your wife from me," said the Doctor aloud, so that she might hear it in the adjoining room, "that she should be very careful of the father of her children"—here he made a pause on purpose—"and nurse him kindly, and keep him at home; a clockmaker, from his constant sedentary habits, is but a weakly creature. Good night, Lenz!"
The Doctor departed. He often stumbled by the way, and almost sunk down into the snow drifts that were fast thawing in all directions, and on the surface of which were many dangerous, loose, rolling stones. He was forced to give his attention more closely to the path, and not to give way to sad thoughts; for he recalled what Pilgrim had lately said to him:—"Lenz lived, no doubt, tolerably enough with his wife, but a mere formal intercourse with any one could not satisfy him; what he requires is cheerfulness, happiness, and cordial love; and these he has not."