"Ach nein—doch nein," murmured Frau von Treumann, turning the sheets over, and blowing her nose harder than ever.
"It will come off," thought Letty, who had slipped in unnoticed, and was eating bread and butter alone at the further end of the table.
"Poor thing," thought Anna, "she adores that Karlchen."
There was a pause, during which the nose continued to be blown.
"His letter is beautiful, but sad—very sad," said Frau von Treumann, shaking her head despondingly. "Poor boy—poor dear boy—he misses his mother, of course. I knew he would, but I did not dream it would be as bad as this. Oh, my dear Miss Estcourt—well, Anna then"—smiling faintly—"I could never describe to you the wrench it was, the terrible, terrible wrench, leaving him who for five years—I am a widow five years—has been my all."
"It must have been dreadful," murmured Anna sympathetically.
The baroness sat straight and motionless, staring fixedly at Frau von Treumann.
"'When shall I see you again, my dearest mamma?' were his last words. And I could give him no hope—no answer." The handkerchief went up to her eyes.
"What is she gassing about?" wondered Letty.
"I can see him now, fading away on the platform as my train bore me off to an unknown life. An only son—the only son of a widow—is everything, everything to his mother."