Sonnenkamp now asked the professor's wife if what Roland had stated were true.
She replied in the affirmative, adding that the danger was over, as Count Wolfsgarten had furnished the required sum of money.
When Sonnenkamp heard the name and the amount, a surprising transformation seemed to take place in him. He said that he allowed no one the privilege of helping Eric in money-matters; he claimed that as exclusively his own. And now, having once begun to be beneficent, a new strength seemed to be unfolded in him; he considered himself very fortunate in being permitted to render assistance to such an excellent family, even if Eric should not remain with him.
The professor's widow could not refrain from confessing that it required great strength of soul to receive favors, and that her family were not accustomed to it. She spoke of her son.
"He is a child in feeling," she said, "without anything false, incapable of any indirection, a strong, steadfast, sincere, manly, and noble character. I ought not, as his mother, to say this, but I can only congratulate you. You can entrust to him that which you value most, as the precious jewel of your life, and I tell you that whoever loves Eric has a heaven in his heart, and whoever does not love him is without a heart."
Sonnenkamp rose, drawing a deep breath; he would have liked to say, How happy was that man who could call this woman mother; but he restrained himself. He stood before the flower-stand, which was artistically arranged, by an invisible contrivance, in a pyramidal shape, and all so well cared for and ordered, that it was a pleasure to behold it. He led the conversation to botany; Eric had informed him that his mother had a knowledge of it, and he was happy to meet in her an associate in his special pursuit—for he considered botany his specialty.
He turned the conversation, aptly and sympathizingly, to the lady's past history. He asked first, whether she would not take pleasure in coming, at some time, to the Rhine.
She replied that she should like much to do so, and that she had a special desire to see once more, before she died, a friend of her youth, the present Superior of the island-convent, and principal of the seminary.
"Are you so intimate with the Superior?" said Sonnenkamp, and something occurred to him which he could not make clear to himself, but he evidently impressed it upon himself to reserve this for further consideration. He smiled in a very friendly manner, when the lady dwelt at length, in a pleasant way, upon the strangeness of life. There sits a lady in her cage, and here another has her nest in a little garden, and they cannot come to each other. The older one becomes, indeed, so much the more enigmatical seem often the interwoven threads of human relations in the world.
She added, gently closing her eyes, that it had seemed so only since the death of her husband, for she had been able to say everything to him, and he had unfolded clearly and harmoniously what seemed to her a confused puzzle.