“Is it possible you cannot see how funny they are? At home, in Ille, there is a similar armchair in the nursery. We called it ‘Frau Mayer’ and put a basket on its arm.”
Anne blushed a little and, disconcerted, looked at the chequered linen covers.
“They insult us,” she said, as if speaking to the armchair, “though we belong together....” She thought suddenly of the staircase in the Geramb house, of Bertha Bajmoczy ... the old indignity ... the old resentment. Then, as if her grandfather’s voice echoed in her memory, “I am a free citizen.”
She raised her head. Her young neck bent back disdainfully.
“How beautiful you are, like this,” said Thomas and his voice altered.
The woman’s shoulder trembled. That was the old voice that thrilled her like a touch. They looked at each other for a moment and then she disappeared in Thomas’s embrace.
Anne felt that in her husband’s arms all her cares vanished, that she herself passed away. Her head fell back, no longer with pride but with that feminine movement which expresses the conquest of the conqueror.
“My love....”
They held each other for a long time tightly embraced and the silence of rare and secret reunions came over them. When the silence broke, the reunion was ended and they both withdrew into themselves.
Later in the day, Anne came running through the rooms with a telegram and joy rang in her voice: