"I may tell you," he wrote, "that poor Angèle did not die a natural death. At the institution, they knew she needed the strictest watching, but, unfortunately, even with the greatest care, there are moments when a patient is not observed. It was one of those moments that Angèle seized to take poison, one of the poisons that are frequently used and are not kept under lock and key."
The snow had melted away. Slowly, slowly Frederick adjusted himself to life again. There was a mildness in him like the mildness of nature outside his window. It was a surprisingly sweet experience. The world seemed to be granting him indulgence. Lying on his clean bed, with the little pewter sailing vessels on the old seaman's clock ticking to and fro, he had a sense of security and, what is more, a sense of rejuvenation, of having expiated and received pardon. From torrid black clouds, a storm had come with thunder and lightning to cleanse the air. It was still rumbling on the distance horizon, farther and farther away, never to return again, leaving behind in the weak man a rich, full, peaceful joy in life.
"A cure of force, a violent eruption and revolution has purged your body of all poisons and putrid matter," said Peter Schmidt.
XXX
"A pity no birds are singing," Frederick said one day to Miss Burns, who had opened his bedroom window wide.
"Yes," said Miss Burns, "it is a pity."
"Because," Frederick went on, "you say it is already greening on the banks of Lake Hanover."
"What does that mean—'greening'?" asked Miss Burns, who did not know the German word he had used. He laughed.
"It means spring is coming, and spring without the singing of birds is a deaf and dumb spring."