"Just what I needed, Fanny," Tante Ilde said in what seemed to be a loud tone, with that hammering in her ears; it was really not much more than a whisper. From the very first swallow she felt herself being renewed, and as she continued to sip it, a delightful feeling of actual strength regained came to her. Not go with her dear ones to lay Carli away? The thought was foolish ... and being driven there and back and wearing her new coat? She was beginning to feel equal to anything.
"It's so good," she murmured between her genteel little sips and when Fanny dropped an extra lump of sugar in without asking her, it was still more sustaining to both body and soul and she drank in longer swallows the sweet, dark strength.
Then Maria replaced the cutlet by two pieces of Sacher tart, one for her and one for Fanny. And that, too, was dark and sweet and she was able to eat it. A bite, a sip of coffee and then another bite, another sip. She got on really well with it, though for all its pleasing taste each bite had a way of stopping for a while in her chest.
Then suddenly she knew it was time to speak about Ferry, quite time, before she took the last swallows.
She reached down by her chair where lay her poor bag and picking it up she took out the little wooden statue of the woman bent over waiting for Ferry to put the full pails in her hands.
"Ferry has a lot of talent," she began musingly rather than informingly, as she passed it across the table to Fanny, "and such an old knife too, that he did it with. I'd like to give him a new one."
"But naturally, we'll get him the best, with six or eight blades!" cried Fanny very pleased. Anything they needed except that eternal food and raiment and fuel was a welcome suggestion. Fanny did love to give people things they could live without, not just bread and coal and shoes. It got monotonous to one of her temperament. Even such a little thing as a knife for a boy struck an agreeably releasing note. She kept looking at the delicate figure. It imparted a pleasant sensation to her fingers as she touched it. It was quite evident that Ferry had talent. All was coming around as Tante Ilde had hoped.
"But Ferry is ill," she continued with her gentlest look. "He has night-sweats sometimes, and always a little cough."
"Ach, the poor Buberl!" cried Fanny warmly.
"How easy Fanny makes things," her aunt was thinking, yet somehow she still hesitated.