"Well, then, dear child, to-morrow. You see I am content with anything. And then there is another thing I want to mention, and that is the wine we have at dinner. Between ourselves, it is not particularly good, and does not agree with my husband at all. He is a little spoiled in this. I know you have better in the cellar; we had some of it when we first came; did we not now?"
"Yes, aunt; but unfortunately there are only two or three bottles left, which I am keeping for my father----"
"Even if there are only two or three bottles, they are better than none. Good heavens! there's that man at the window again! One cannot take three steps here without coming across him."
These last words were probably not intended for my ear, but my sense of hearing was acute, and the voice of the gnädige very distinct in its metallic ring. That they referred to none other than myself was unquestionable; for beside the fact that I was a man, and standing just then at the window, the gnädige had stared at me with her fixed round eyes, in a very ungracious manner, and then turned sharply upon her heel.
But it made little difference to me that I displeased the gnädige, or how much I displeased her; I thought only of the poor dear girl who wiped the tears from her cheeks as she walked up the garden path alone, after her aunt had left her. In a moment I was down from my office-stool, out of the room, and had hurried to her side.
"You must not give up your room to her, Paula," I said.
"You heard, then?"
"Yes; and you must not do it. It is the only one that has a good light, and----"
"I will not be able to paint much this winter; there is too much to do."
"Do you really take it for granted that they are going to remain here all winter?"