"It is from Franz," said Habermann, and his hand trembled, as he hastily broke the seal. Franz had often written to him, and every time he had been in doubt whether to mention the correspondence to his child or not,--until now, he had said nothing to her about it. He read; the letter was full of friendship, and the old attachment; every word expressed the recollection of old times; but not a single one referred to his love. At the close, he said that he should remain in Paris until St. John's day, and then return home. This last Habermann told Bräsig, as he put the letter in his pocket.
Bräsig was walking back and forth meanwhile, thinking, and, if Habermann had not been occupied with his letter, he must have heard what he was saying to himself.
"Remarkable! quite remarkable! It seems to me like the finger of God! The Herr Burgomeister can have no objection to that, Paris has nothing to do with the indiciums, this is a purely private affair. Karl," he said at last, standing before Habermann, and looking at him, as he had seen the burgomeister look at the weaver that morning, "Karl, tell me the real truth; does your young Herr von Rambow know,--your old pupil, I mean,--that I know, that you and the Frau Pastorin know, that something has happened between him and Louise, that nobody is to know?"
"Eh, Bräsig, I don't know----"
"Good, Karl, I see I have not expressed my meaning clearly enough, I mean, is he of the« opinion that you and the Frau Pastorin think that I think well of his love for Louise, and that you have told me? That is my opinion, and now tell me yours."
"Eh, Bräsig, he knows that you know about it, and he knows that you think well of it; but what of that?"
"Good, Karl; lose no words! But I must go now, I have invited David Berger and his trumpeters and the whole glee club to Grammelin's this evening, to a bowl of punch, and I must go and look after it. So, adieu, Karl!" and he went, but came back again: "Karl, tell the Frau Pastorin, I shall not be home to supper. If I should say anything to her about the punch, she would preach me a little sermon; and you, Karl, don't be alarmed if I come home late to-night. I have the key." But he came back once more to say: "Karl, what can be done, shall be done."
"I believe it," said Habermann, who thought he referred to the punch, "you will do your business thoroughly." Bräsig nodded, as if to say he might rely upon him with confidence, and went.
Habermann sat there, and read his letter a second time, and who would have thought that from this manuscript so many fair hopes would blossom? The warm friendship, which spoke in the letter, soothed him like the spring weather, and the trusting tone echoed sweetly in his ears, as the song of birds. Should his hopes be again deceived? Time would show!
Ah, time and hope! They stand over against each other, like the cuckoo and the seven stars; a man who, after long darkness, ventures to hope again, and sees the first faint gleams of happiness in the dark sky, must yet wait patiently the time when the sun stands full in the heavens.