At last they had all departed, and, somewhat relieved, the Freiherr, accompanied by Leo, betook himself to the drawing-room; but, instead of the family group he had expected to see, he found only his sister, who was confined by gout to her wheeled-chair by the fireplace, in which, in spite of the sunshine, a bright fire was blazing.
"All alone, Thekla?" he asked, glancing with dissatisfaction at the handkerchief with which she had hastily dried her eyes upon his entrance. "Where are all the others?"
"I sent them away. I wanted to be alone," said the old lady. "Dear Johann, you cannot imagine how hard it has been for me to be absent for the first time when your people came with their birthday congratulations." And she burst into tears again.
"Come, come, Thekla! Next year, God willing, you will be present," her brother said, taking a seat beside her.
"Next year!" she repeated, with a melancholy smile. Then changing the subject, she added, "I had the post-bag brought to me. All those are for you."
The Freiherr hastily looked over the addresses of the letters which she handed to him. "Johanna addressed her letter to you, then, eh?" he asked, laying them aside.
"No, nothing came from her," Thekla replied. "But don't be afraid; her letter is probably delayed. Young people upon their wedding-tour——"
"Nonsense!" interposed the Freiherr. "When the wedding-tour has lasted longer than three months the bliss is a little frayed; and if not, Johanna is not one to neglect the old for the new. No, no; something is the matter. The child is ill."
"Dear Johann," Thekla began. But her brother did not allow her to proceed.
"I knew it would be so," he went on, "and I told the doctor so when he devised his confounded plan of travel. A woman belongs at home. She is a superfluity in railways and hotels, and she feels uncomfortable——"