Eric relieved the anxiety of the Major, who kept saying:—
"Just see, Fräulein Milch,—don't be afraid to put on your spectacles,—just see! our Herr Eric looks like another being. You're in a fever; how red your lips are!"
Eric could not reply; he could not say that they were still burning with kisses.
The Major went to a cupboard, and mixing a powder in half a glass of water, returned to Eric. Putting his hand on Eric's forehead he said,—
"You had better take something." He then shook into it another powder, so that it effervesced, and Eric had to drink the hissing draught, without another word. The Major made the sage remark that there was nothing in the world so good for all sorts of excitement as a Rochelle powder.
Fräulein Milch, who saw very plainly that Eric had something to communicate, was about to leave the room, but he called out,—
"You are to hear it too, you and my friend here. I entrust it to your true hearts. I am betrothed."
"To Manna?" said Fräulein Milch.
Eric looked amazed, and the Major cried:—
"God be thanked that she lives in our days; in the past dark ages they would have burnt her for a witch. She knows everything, and sees into the future; nobody could ever believe it. But here you have it. As we were sitting together, she said: This very evening Eric and Manna have been betrothed. And when I laughed, she said: Don't laugh, I'll go for a bottle of wine. Look, comrade, there it stands; and she said: They will come here this very evening together. Well, she isn't yet an infallible prophetess, for you've come alone, comrade. Come here, let me kiss you, my heart's brother."