He had been making up this pretty speech during the whole journey, and he had said it over inaudibly to himself certainly a hundred times: and now it came out so clumsily, that the good lady trembled so that she could not rise.
The Major cried:—
"Don't get up; everybody knows that there's no ceremony at all to be made with me. I don't desire to incommode any one; I greatly prefer that people would sit when I enter. Isn't it the same with you? One feels sure in this case that he doesn't make any disturbance."
"Have you come from my son?"
"Yes, from him too. Observe, I'm not one of the best people in the world, neither am I one of the worst; but there's one thing I can say to my credit, that I have never in all my life envied anybody but you, and you I did envy when you said, 'my son;' that I did envy you for. Why can't I say this too? If I only had such a son as you have!"
Now there was tranquillity at last. The Major delivered a letter from Sonnenkamp and the Cabinetsräthin, and desired that the letters should be read immediately, as they would render it unnecessary for him to say anything.
The Professorin read, and the Major watched her countenance while she was reading, with peculiar marks of quiet satisfaction.
The Professorin bade him welcome, and called her sister-in-law, who came in.
The blinds were opened, and the instreaming light shone upon cheerful faces.
"What shall we decide upon doing?" asked Aunt Claudine.