But he did not come running to meet her. How strange that he had not watched for her.
"They'll be sitting in the veranda at the back," said her husband. "They always sit there in the evening." He remained behind a little. Let Käte see the boy alone first.
And she hurried through the hall past the beaming cook and without seeing Friedrich, who had donned his livery after decorating all the rooms with the flowers he had raised himself; she neither admired his successes in the garden nor the cake the cook had placed on the festive-looking table. She ran from the hall into her small sitting-room and from thence through the dining-room, the door of which led to the verandah. The door was open--now she stood on the threshold--those outside did not see her.
There was only one of the shaded lamps on the veranda table that was burning, but it was bright enough to light up the space around it. But Cilia was doing nothing. The stocking she was to darn lay in her lap; her right hand in which she held the long darning-needle rested idly on the edge of the table. She was leaning back a little; her face, which looked more refined and prettier in the twilight, was raised; she seemed to be lost in thought with her mouth half open.
Nothing was to be seen of Wolfgang. But now his mother heard him speak in a tone full of regret: "Don't you know any more? Oh!" And then urgently: "Go on, Cilia, go on, it was so beautiful."
Ah, now she saw him too. He was sitting at the girl's feet, on quite a low footstool, leaning against her knee. And he was looking up at her imploringly, longingly at that moment, looking at her with eyes that gleamed like dark polished agate, and speaking to her in a tone his mother thought she had never heard from him before: "Sing, Cillchen. Dear Cillchen, sing."
The girl began:
"Quoth she with voice subdued, 'Cease from quaking--
"Oh no.
"Not in wrath am I before thee standing--