"And yet this life satisfied her," said Ludwig. "So spiritual a nature is always satisfied with love and a round of duties."
Johanna shook her head. "It is comfortable to suppose so," she said; "but let me recall one expression of your mother's which, child as I was, made a deep impression upon me. My mother was already ill; yours sat beside her bed, while I was busied with a book at the window. Mamma must have been speaking of her past life. I had been paying no attention, when suddenly I heard her say, 'Ah, dear Louise, you pity me!' Your mother dried her tears, and said, in a tone which I never can forget, 'No, Agnes, I envy you! It is sad to be driven forth from Paradise, but infinitely sadder never to have entered it.'"
Ludwig gazed gloomily into space. "There are various Paradises," he said, at last, "and they are found in various ways. My mother, I am convinced, found hers later. But you are right; hers was not for every one. You could hardly find it as she did."
"I should never seek it in that direction," she replied, quite conscious that she was paining him; it grieved her to do so, but she could not help it.
Ludwig arose once more; his face was pale and set. "I must take leave of you," he said; "I have an appointment with a couple of college friends."
"When shall I see you,—to-morrow? When will you come?" asked Johanna. "Of course I shall be at home for you all day long."
"I take the first train to-morrow for the north," he replied.
"Oh, you must not!" she exclaimed. "You must be here to-morrow evening. It is my father's birthday, and you must be present at its celebration."
"Impossible; I cannot postpone my departure," he made answer. "And even if I could, where could I find a place among your friends? I am—you remember how often my father said so—a faithful, cross, ugly dog. In a tête-à-tête the old playfellow is all very well, but he does not belong in the drawing-room."
Johanna took his hand. "I will not let you go," she said, "until you promise to come to-morrow evening. We have a little play,—I make my first histrionic essay. You must be present."