"No, no, I shall not say it again, and certainly not to you."
The distress which the Professorin had experienced at the first interview with Frau Ceres was felt anew. She believed now that she knew the suffering of the dark-eyed woman, who, sometimes listless, and sometimes restless as a lizard, was troubled by a thought which she could not reveal, and could not wholly keep back.
Like a child to whom a story is told, she was urged by Frau Ceres to tell her over and over again about the court fêtes, which alone seemed to awaken any interest. Frau Ceres was delighted to hear the same things repeated.
But the mother took care to show that a princess has a special employment for every hour, and that a regular performance of duty was of great importance. She spoke earnestly, and came back often to the consideration, that a woman like Frau Ceres, born in a Republic, could have not the remotest conception of all this, and that it was like being suddenly removed into another century.
"I understand everything that you and your son say," Frau Ceres stated, "but what other people say, except the Major, I hear it indeed, but I don't know where I am. Just think, I was afraid of you at first."
"Of me? No one was ever afraid of me before."
"I will tell you about it some other time. Ah, I am sick, I am always sick."
The Mother did not succeed in arousing Frau Ceres out of her life of mere alternate sleeping and waking.
Sonnenkamp met the Mother with demonstrations of deepest respect, and seemed to practise upon her his airs and attitudes of genteel behavior. He delicately hinted that he had faithfully kept the agreement, and had never asked her what his wife said and desired; and now he would only beg to be permitted to make one inquiry, whether Frau Ceres had never spoken of Manna.
"Certainly, but very briefly."