After this a shadow haunted Villa Baumgarten. Kitty never suspected its presence; she sprinkled her flowers, all attached to wires as they were, with fresh water, to keep them as long as possible from fading, and never noticed their sentimental signification. Nevertheless, the gray, menacing phantom glided hither and thither through the Frau President's rooms; its presence dimmed the splendour of the costly satin furniture, the beauty of the bronzes, and the priceless porcelain; it occupied the Frau President's own favourite seat in the conservatory, and embittered her enjoyment of existence. The old lady was as anxious as to her future as if but half of her life lay behind her. The councillor should not marry again: so much at least he owed to her. She had made him what he was, by her aristocratic connections, her social influence; her incomparable taste had transformed his home into a palace, that impressed even the spoiled habitués of the court. Had she not sacrificed herself most decidedly in first consenting to take charge of his comparatively simple bourgeois household? And now, when everything was at last arranged precisely as she liked it,—when her efforts had been crowned with success,—a youthful Frau von Römer was to arise to take the lead in these splendid apartments, and those who asked to see the Frau President Urach would be shown up-stairs to some retired rooms appropriated to her use. Why, she would not have liked to see even Flora, her own daughter's child, in this position, much less the grandchild of the castle miller! The Frau President immediately manifested a deep interest in Kitty's Dresden home; she expressed great regret that so wonderful a musical talent should lie fallow for four long weeks, and even spoke of accompanying Kitty to Dresden in her own august person.
The young girl received this access of courtesy and interest in silence. She still hoped that Henriette might be induced by Doctor Bruck to visit Dresden. Hitherto he had made no attempt to do so, apparently for fear lest the invalid's irritability might be aroused in opposition; for just now she was irritable and excitable to the utmost. His visits were paid every morning at the same hour. The boudoirs of the two younger sisters were adjoining, and the door between them was almost always open. Kitty could hear his soothing tones, his gentle voice, and now and then a laugh so merry that the invalid could not but join in it. His ringing, musical laugh had a peculiar charm for Kitty: it seemed to come directly from a heart the youthful freshness of which was yet undimmed; it was a proof to her that he felt his future secure, that he was not in reality affected by the thousand trials which at present assailed him.
She herself seldom spoke with him. Sitting at her work-table in her room, she could see him walk to and fro at times; but, inseparable though the sisters usually were, Henriette always withdrew to her own room shortly before the time for his visit, and Kitty took care never to thwart her evident wish by taking part in the conversation either by word or by look.
She frequently saw the dean's widow, however, in the castle mill. The old lady paid Susie a daily visit, now that she lived so near, carrying her strengthening soups and jellies, and spending hours in cheering the poor old housekeeper, who was much depressed at being still unable to scrub or spin or even knit.
Those were happy twilight-hours in the old room at the mill. The widow would relate stories of her youth, when she had been the pastor's wife in her happy village home. She told of the sad, tearful time when she took her dear Leo, the doctor, then a boy only eight years old, from his home, where his parents had died within a few weeks of each other; and whatever else she talked of or dwelt upon, she was sure to return to the theme of which she never tired,—her delight in this nephew, who was, as she said, the very sunshine of her life.
Kitty used to accompany the old lady on her way home along the river-bank as far as the bridge across the stream. The little, wrinkled hand lay confidingly upon the girl's arm, and the two walked along as if they belonged to each other, and must together cross the bridge and enter the "Doctor's house" in its peaceful retirement among the trees in the twilight. The evenings were still cold, and from the dark forest the floating mists would moisten both hair and dress. The friendly roof and smoking chimney were very attractive. The lamp was usually shining brightly through the windows of the corner room, clearly illuminating the bridge. The old lady could not have missed her way even on a dark night. She would enter; the window-shutters would be closed; and there, in the cosy corner by the stove,—Kitty could see it all in her mind's eye,—where the faded green rug lay and the high-backed arm-chair stood, would be arranged the table for the pleasant evening meal, and his aunt would sit knitting until the doctor had finished his writing.
She had described it all often to Kitty as they walked along together, and she liked to pause for a moment upon the bridge and contemplate her pleasant home, pointing to her darling's head, with its dark curls, bending over his writing-table. He would suddenly spring up and open the window when the new watch-dog barked and rattled his chain at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Is that you, aunt?" the doctor would call from the window, and at his call Kitty would withdraw from the circle of light thrown by the lamp. With a hasty "good-night," she would run along the lonely avenue: she could not help feeling thrust out in the cold. And would not he at some future day, if he persisted in forcing Flora to be his, experience the same sensation when he went from the house here by the stream to his home in town and met but a cold greeting from his wife, or found her just arrayed for some evening entertainment?
On the seventh day after the councillor's departure, news arrived from Berlin that the factory was sold. The Frau President was so much pleased by the intelligence that she mounted the stairs in her dressing-gown and came into Henriette's room with the open letter in her hand. Flora happened to be already there.
The old lady seated herself in an arm-chair and imparted her news. "Thank Heaven, Moritz has done with it!" she said, in the best of humours. "He has made an excellent bargain; he himself is amazed at the price paid him." She folded her delicate hands upon the table before her and looked perfectly satisfied. "He can now break entirely with every connection with trade. There will be no more, I trust, of those dreadful 'business friends.' Only think how we have been forced to endure men at dinner whose proper place was in the servants' hall! Heavens! what moments of painful embarrassment I have had! Yes, yes; there has been much to be borne in silence."
Meanwhile, Kitty was standing at the window, whence she had a full view of the huge factory, with its still unfinished additions. The gravelled square in front of the building was swarming at present with people,—men, women, and children in a state of evident excitement,—gesticulating violently. The looms were deserted: there was not a workman occupied inside the factory.