But Taubennest, whatever it might be in his imagination, had scarce deserved the name of happy Taubennest, since the day he quitted it. It was not that his sisters had not had many a pleasant walk, and played at many a merry game together, during his absence. It was not that no smiles had ever lightened his mother’s brow of care. Things had gone on much in their usual course; a year (for it was no more) of separation had not wrought many obvious changes, save that Count Rudolf’s health was declining; disappointed hopes, and ungratified ambition are worse diseases than fever or consumption, and they were wearing his life away. Countess Ermengarde had spent many days in calm content, and in active usefulness, and these things bring their reward of peace with them. The little girls had not lost the gaiety of disposition which is natural to their years, and their minds were in a process of training, which is sure to produce a happy temper. So Taubennest seemed to the friends of the family the same bright joyous scene as ever.
And yet they who watched closely, would see a tear falling at times, from the mother’s eye, or mark that now and then an involuntary sigh would escape from her. And they who looked for it might observe, that ever and anon some game was laid aside by the children, because two felt that they could find no pleasure in it, when the third, who had been used to join in it, was absent. And walks were chosen, because they had been favourites with some one who was no longer of the party. And every thing that awakened an association of this description was most dearly prized. Surely they did not err who deemed that at such seasons Witikind was foremost in his mother’s and his sisters’ thoughts.
“I wonder,” said Veronica to Ediltrudis, “whether we shall find the rosebud blown this morning. Mamma said she thought it would not be out for three days. What a pity he planted such a late-flowering rose in his garden. It would have been such a nice present for Mamma on his birthday.”
“Dear Witikind!” exclaimed Ediltrudis, “how few besides himself would ever have thought of such a delicate attention to Mamma, as his choice of that tree involved! ‘What kind of rose shall we plant against the trellis which surrounds your garden?’ asked the gardener. ‘Shall it be the blush-moss from Candahar? it is the choicest rose grown; but I have a promise of one for you, if you wish it.’ ‘No, Florian, that will not suit me, unless it be the latest, as well as the choicest rose that grows. I do not care for a rose that I can gather when roses are in plenty; you must find one for me that will be in flower when all others are gone. You know how the Countess loves flowers. I want to be able to provide her with a nosegay, when nobody else can do so.’”
“Ah!” replied Veronica, “that was just like Witikind. A more affectionate heart than his never beat. How I hope we shall find one of his buds in flower! It is quite too soon to expect it; but that was a chance cluster which we observed yesterday, and, perhaps, one of the buds may be far enough advanced by this time. If it be open ever so little, I would gather it for Mamma.”
“How I wish some good Fairy would touch the buds with her wand, and provide us each with a full-blown rose; one for Mamma; one for you; and one for me.”
“Nay,” said Veronica, “I shall be satisfied if only a few petals of that single bud be open. I shall hail it as a good omen that we shall have Witikind himself among us before the year is over.”
“What a fanciful notion!” answered Ediltrudis, laughing. “There is no end to your romantic imaginations. Now, I confess that, for my part, I shall be quite surprised if I find that——why look here!” she suddenly exclaimed, as, being a little in advance of her sister, she caught the first glimpse of the rose-tree. “Look here, Veronica; make haste, make haste, a Fairy must have been here.”
“How very extraordinary!” cried the child, running up. “Four full-blown roses on this cluster! And yet, when we were here yesterday, there was but one bud at all advanced, and the others were tiny, tiny things, which I thought would not be in bloom for months to come! You may say what you will, Ediltrudis, but this must be a good omen. There is not only a rose for Mamma, and for each of us, but one for Papa likewise.”
“You forget that Papa does not care for flowers.”