"It is my Dr. Wolf!" Lisbeth cried, in glee; for she had soon made friends with him, and now regarded him quite as her own property. Scrambling down from the window-seat, she took possession of him; but whilst he listened to her childish talk, and answered her as kindly as ever, he glanced from time to time, with an anxious expression, at Johanna. Did she really look paler and more weary than usual, or did fancy show him what he had expected to see? At last, when the child, sitting in his lap, was busy with a book of pictures which he had brought her, he handed Johanna a newspaper. It contained the first chapters of her novel.
"Will you pardon me for acting thus upon my own responsibility?" he asked.
"Pardon? I am most grateful to you," said Johanna, blushing with pleasure.
"I should have liked to go farther," said Wolf, his eyes lighting up for a moment. "I should have liked to put your name to it. Perhaps you may decide to do so at its conclusion. So good a name——"
"Too good for my poor beginnings," Johanna interposed. "But that is not the only consideration that would prevent me from signing my work. It would annoy my grandfather to see my name in the newspaper which his people read daily. No, I cannot allow it."
Dr. Wolf stroked back his hair from his forehead—a sure sign that he was uneasy in mind. "Do they take any other newspapers at Dönninghausen?" he asked.
"The 'Augsburg Sentinel' and the 'Circular,'" Johanna replied. And, too much pleased to observe the young man's uneasiness, she went on: "How did you contrive to have my story printed so soon? You told me the other day that there were so many manuscripts on hand. Confess that you have been plotting for me!"
Again he stroked back his black hair. "Of course," he said, without looking at her, "I have done what I could. Yesterday morning there was no idea of it. It is, to some extent, a counter-check. Have you seen no other paper yesterday or to-day?"
His last words startled her. "Tell me, for heaven's sake! Is any one dead?" she cried, growing pale.
"Nothing of the kind," Dr. Wolf hurriedly interrupted her; "it concerns yourself alone. I hope you will not take it too much to heart." And after assuring himself by a glance that Lisbeth had fallen asleep, he went on: "Dr. Stein's 'Feuilleton' contains a notice which states that the daughter of a distinguished actor, who died about two years ago, is shortly to appear in Carlo Batti's famous circus."