Reinhold remained motionless in his position, he would not disturb the charm of this moment by any movement. It was as if a breath of the old legendary poems of his home were wafted to him, long forgotten but rising now suddenly before him with all their melancholy charms. Suddenly this deep calm was interrupted by the clear joyfulness of a child's voice. A boy of about seven or eight rushed up the steps of the terrace, a large shining mussel shell in his hand, which he had picked up somewhere on the shore. The child was evidently most delighted with his discovery, his whole little face beamed, as, with glowing cheeks and streaming locks, he hastened towards the lady, who turned her head round at his cry.
With a half suppressed exclamation, Reinhold sprang up and remained as if rooted to the ground. The moment she had turned her face completely towards him, he recognised the stranger, who bore Ella's features and yet could not be Ella. Bewildered, deadly pale, he stared at the lady, whose poetical appearance he had just been admiring, and who yet, in every feature, resembled his so despised, and at last forsaken wife. She, too, had recognised him; the intense pallor which also overspread her face, betrayed it, as did her sudden start backwards. She grasped the marble balustrade as if seeking for support, but now the boy had reached her and, holding the mussel aloft with both hands, cried triumphantly--
"Mamma! dear mamma, see what I have found!"
This roused Reinhold from his stupor. Bewilderment, fright, astonishment, all disappeared as he heard his child's voice. Following the impulse of the moment, he rushed forward, and stretched out his arms, to draw the boy eagerly to his breast.
"Reinhold!"
Almbach stopped as if struck; but the name was not for him, only for the boy, who, immediately obeying her call, hastened to his mother. With a rapid movement she placed both arms around him, as if to protect and conceal her child, and then drew herself up. The pallor had not left her face yet, her lips still trembled, but her voice sounded firm and energetic.
"You must not trouble strangers, Reinhold. Come, my child! We will go."
Almbach started, and stepped back a pace; the tone was as new to him as the whole person of her, whom he once called his wife. Had he not recognised her voice, he would have believed more than ever in a delusion. The little one, on the contrary, looked up in surprise at the rebuke. He had not even gone near to the strange gentleman, and certainly had not troubled him, but he saw in his mother's colourlessness and excitement that something unusual had occurred, and the child's large blue eyes fixed themselves defiantly, almost antagonistically upon the stranger, who, he guessed instinctively, was the cause of his mother's alarm.
Ella bad already recovered herself. She turned to go, her arm still held firmly round her boy's shoulder, but Reinhold now stepped hastily in her way--she was obliged to stop.
"Will you be so good as to allow us to pass?" said she, coldly and distantly. "I beg you to do so."