The judge's wife was not at home, but the maid--saying that she would be back soon: she had only gone to the station; her brother was expected, and might perhaps come by the first train--opened the corner room, where Thoma was to wait.
An air full of rest and comfort, full of refreshing odors from blooming plants on tables and pedestals, surrounded Thoma; and her eyes wandered over the beautiful pictures and statues on which the sun shone so brightly. Everything was as still as the flowers and the pictures; even the clock over the writing-table, among the family pictures, moved its pendulum without making the least noise.
Thoma sat down in the corner. The river and the mountains of her home appeared strange to her; everything looked so different through these great panes of glass.
The judge's wife soon entered, with a fresh bouquet of field flowers in her hand. She welcomed Thoma heartily, and the tones of her voice were both gentle and firm.
"How beautiful it is at your house! How very beautiful!" Thoma said, her voice trembling.
"I am glad that it pleases you."
"Oh! and to think," Thoma went on, "that this lady who has such a beautiful home goes to the huts of the poor--goes to Cushion-Kate!"
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable with me. How is your mother?"
"Better, but not quite well yet."
"Do you bring me good news from your father?"