The two friends talked of many things, and what seemed good to the one was approved by the other; they would both help, and it was settled that Franz should have an interview with Moses; but, in spite of all their sincerity, each had a secret from the other. Habermann dared say nothing of Axel's debt to his sisters, the young Frau had confessed it to him with bitter tears and a bleeding heart, the secret was not his own property, but that of another, dearly bought and dearly won. Franz also had his secret, but it must have been a good one, for his face was full of thoughtful joy, and he put one foot up comfortably, on the sofa, and then the other, and he nodded to Habermann, in a friendly way, as he went on talking, and he kept nodding, and finally nodded himself to sleep. Youth and nature must have their rights. Old Habermann got up softly, and looked at him. Joyous thoughts were still hovering over his face, like the beams of the setting sun over a clear, still, transparent lake, and the old man brought a coverlet, and wrapped it gently over him, and then he went out into the Frau Pastorin's little back-garden, and seated himself in an arbor, which he himself had planted, several years before, in his trouble and sorrow, and looked at the window of the room where his daughter slept. Ah, did she sleep? Who can sleep, with bright sunlight shining in the heart? Who can sleep when every sound turns into a melody singing of love and happiness? A light step sounded on the gravel in the garden path, and a lovely maiden, in a light morning dress, approached, turning up her face to the sun-rising, and, with her hands folded on her breast, gazing at the morning sun, as if she too longer feared to be blinded by its light; but tears ran down her rosy cheeks. Right, Louise! The sun is God's sun, and the happiness is God's happiness, and when it shines bright and dazzling in our eyes, tears are good, they soften the light. She bent down, and lifted a rose, to inhale its fragrance, but did not pluck it. Right, Louise! Roses are earthly roses, joys are earthly joys, they both blossom in their season, leave them to their season. Wilt thou enjoy them before their time, thou hast only a withered rose on thy breast, and a withered joy in thy heart.
She walked on slowly, through the garden, and when she came to the arbor, where her old father sat, she sprang towards him, threw herself into his arms, and nestled her head upon his bosom: "Father! father!" Right, Louise! Here is thy rightful place! In thy father's heart beams God's sunshine, in thy father's heart bloom earthly roses.
CHAPTER XLVI.
Frau Nüssler took Frida back to Pumpelhagen, dropping many a comforting word, which fell, like the dew upon a scorched field, on the young Frau's heart, and if it were not yet quite ready to sprout with fresh green, Frau Nüssler would have said, "Never fear! My brother Karl will manage that."
So the young Frau entered her room, in the gray morning, in quite a different mood from that of the evening before, when she had rushed put into the storm; and, with hope, love and faith had returned to her heart. She went up softly and kindly to Fika Degel, who sat in an arm-chair, watching by her child, and had fallen asleep, and stroking her hair gently said:
"Fika, I thank you very much; but you must be weary; go to bed."
"Gracious Frau," said Fika, starting up from a dream of her lover, "she has slept very quietly; I had to give her drink only once."
"Good," said the young Frau, "go to bed." And when the maid was gone, she stood before her child, and looked at her; no! no! the sad lot of a poor noble Fräulein was not suited to that lovely face, and the thoughts of last evening were not suited to the thoughts of this morning. Her soul had suffered torments, fearful torments, during the night, but in the night, and through the torments, hope had been born in her heart, and this child of anguish had fallen upon her neck, and nestled closely to her, and kissed her, and stroked her face, and the blue eyes were beaming heavenward, and in them shone confidence,--yes, and victory.
The young Frau went to bed, and before her rose all the forms of the night: Korlin Kegel and Frau Nüssler, the Frau Pastorin and Louise, Habermann and Bräsig, they all stood, clear and distinct, before her eyes, she understood them all, in their true-hearted conduct and character; but among these images was another, which she did not understand; that was the old Jew. Such clear light fell upon him, and such dark shadows lay in the folds of his dressing-gown, and the wrinkles of his face,--she had never seen such an image,--that all grew indistinct before her eyes, and when she thought of his leave-taking, the image grew larger and larger, and even more indistinct, and she folded her hands upon her breast, and slept.
She slept, and the old Jew was in her dreams, but they were happy dreams; only once she started up, for it seemed to her that a carriage drove into the yard. She listened; but body and soul longed for rest; her head sank back on the pillow, and the friendly dream again hovered over her fair head, and whispered wonderful things in her ears.