"You can very well imagine how Herr Eric looks; when you go into the chapel, look at St. Anthony, he looks exactly like him, exactly as good. But he can also be strict; he has been an artillery-officer."
Again the father made the request, and the mother joined in it, that Manna would accompany them in their journey to the baths, after which she would be allowed to come back to the convent.
Manna informed them that she could not interrupt her studies and her retreat.
The strange, thrilling tone of her voice had something saddening in it, and when she now stated how earnestly she hoped to become clear and resolute in her determination to be constant to the religious life, tears came into her mother's eyes. But her father gazed fixedly at her; he hardly saw his child, hardly knew where he was. He heard a voice, which once—it seemed incredible that he was the same person—he had heard many, many years ago; and as he thus gazed, he saw not his child, not the scenes around him, he saw nothing but a neglected little mound of earth in the churchyard of a Polish village. He passed his broad hand over his whole face, and, as if waking up, he looked now at his child, and heard her saying,—
"I shall be constant to the life."
He had heard all that had here transpired, and yet his thought and his internal eye had been fixed upon a far distant scene, scarcely comprehensible. Now he repeated his request that Manna would just go with them into the park, and salute the friends; that she ought not to slight them; but Manna firmly persisted that she could not go.
Manna had requested a sister to send for Heimchen; the child came, and looked wonderingly at the strangers. Manna pointed out to the child her parents and her brother. The child, scarcely glancing at the parents, nestled up to Roland, when Manna said,—
"This is my brother I have told you of."
"I like you," said the child, "I like you."
She was as confiding with Roland as if she had always played with him. "And will you be my brother?" asked the child.