John Hubert nodded absent-mindedly. He was quite reassured now that he had ascertained that Thomas Illey did not intend to withdraw Anne’s dowry from the business. He proffered his hand to him.
“It is settled. You do not think of buying Ille back. You won’t meddle with the business. Now we can look at the ledgers and the balance sheet.”
Thomas smiled. He wanted to see nothing but Anne, and John Hubert opened the door of the sunshine room to him. There everything was bright and warm.
When the new spring made earth and sky bright and warm around the old house, Mamsell Tini stuck a wreathed veil into Anne’s hair. Now, like a white cloud, the veil floated through the old rooms, caressed the doors and walls. Anne kissed her father.
“Thank you, father,” said the girl. “I am so happy.”
Tears came into the eyes of John Hubert. Life had no more joys in store for him....
In the corridor stood old Füger, and Mrs. Henrietta in a starched bonnet, and Mr. Gemming. Poor little Feuerlein, deeply stirred, wiped his eyes. None bowed more respectfully to Thomas Illey than Otto Füger.
Above, high above the roofs, the bells clanged loud from the church steeple of Leopold’s town, bells that had so often spoken of the destinies of the Ulwings. And under the porch the two pillar-men looked down into the flower-laden carriage.
The porch repeated once over the sound of the parting wheels, then the house fell into silence. Anne carried her quiet laugh away with her on her honeymoon. Everything became quiet, the men, the days.