"I do not understand what you mean, aunt," answered Elsa, blushing up to the roots of her hair.
"Nor I either, thank God," answered Sidonie, wiping her eyes; "only I get so anxious when I see your papa so out of spirits, as he was this morning when he gave me Aunt Valerie's letter; he never answers her letters himself, although this last one is really so touchingly humble, that I shall find it very difficult to be severe with her again."
"How can one be severe with a person who is so unhappy as you say Aunt Valerie is?"
"Child, you cannot understand," answered Sidonie; "you must trust to your papa and me. There are things which can never be forgiven."
"Not even if one is sorry for them, as Aunt Valerie evidently is? Is it only a brother who is to be forgiven until seventy times seven, and not a sister also?"
This was another of Elsa's terrible ideas which Sidonie did not know how to meet. Her kind eyes looked around as if seeking for help, and rested at last on the trellis, where they wandered up and down.
"At last I have got it into order," she exclaimed: "see, Elsa, for the last three days the bed has not been trodden down nor the leaves torn off the trellis. It is only a wild vine, but it was beginning to look so pretty; August swore he did not do it; but how can one believe people? Well, I have gained my object."
"It is wonderfully quiet over there to-day," said Elsa.
"I wish to heaven it were always so," answered the aunt.
"Even the manufactory chimney is not smoking," continued Elsa. "Good heavens! I have only just remarked it. I hope no misfortune has happened! Have you heard anything, August!"