"Do you believe," said my wife, addressing Annette; "do you believe that Ernst sees his actions in their true colors?"
"I do not."
"I hope that it is so. Indeed, I really trust that my child does not reason clearly on this subject. I would rather have him think himself right in what he is doing; for he will then be able to endure his days, and to sleep peacefully at night."
"How happy one is to watch the growth of bright, youthful memories in a child's soul; but after such a deed, it were kindest to wish that he might forget everything." And then turning towards me, she added, "I feel so badly to think that my favorite maxim is now dead."
"Which?"
"When I was asked how one could best bring up children, I would always answer, 'Let your married life be pure, for thus alone can you have good, righteous children.' But it seems that even this is no longer the case."
No one replied. Annette told us that she had just received a dispatch. The tidings of victory were false, and the very reverse of the first news was the true report, for the Prussians had penetrated into Bohemia.
"Ah, how soon there will be more grieving mothers! If the woful cries of all these mothers could be concentrated into one utterance, who is there that could hear it, and still live?"
Thus lamented my wife. We sat in silence.
Richard entered, saying, "Mother is right; she looks far ahead." He told us that Martella had shouted with joy when Rothfuss had told her of Ernst's flight; she had praised his adroitness.