He drew her to him and she wept quietly on his breast.
The following day the morning sun shone through the windows of the old wooden church upon the place before the altar. Again Ilse's head was surrounded by a heavenly radiance and the countenance of the man into whose hand the old pastor laid that of his favorite beamed with happiness. The children of the house and the workwomen of the farm strewed flowers. Ilse, with her wreath and veil, stepped over the last flowers of the garden, looking heavenward. From the arms of her father and sisters, amid the loudly expressed blessings of Mrs. Rollmaus and the gently-murmured prayer of the old Pastor, her husband helped her into the carriage. Another hurrah from the people, one more glance at the old home, and Ilse pressed the hand of her husband and clung closely to him.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FIRST GREETINGS OF THE CITY.
The leaves were falling in the woods around the city. Ilse stood at the window thinking of her home. The wreaths over the door were faded, the linen and clothes were stowed away in the presses, her own life glided on so quietly, while all around her was noise and bustle. Her husband was sitting in the next room over his work; no sound but the rustling of the leaves as he turned them penetrated through the door and at times the clattering of plates in the kitchen which was close by. Her dwelling was very pretty, but hedged in on all sides; at one side the narrow street; behind was the neighboring house, with many windows for curious eyes; toward the wood, also, the horizon was shut in by grey trunks and towering branches. From the distance, the hum and cries of the busy town sounded in her ear from morning till night; above were to be heard the tones of a pianoforte, and on the pavement the unceasing tread of the passers-by, wagons rolling and loud voices quarreling. However long she looked out of the window, there were always new people and unknown faces, many beautiful equipages and, on the other hand, many poor people. Ilse thought that every passer-by who wore fashionable attire must be a person of distinction, and when she saw a shabby dress she thought how heavily life pressed upon the poor here. But all were strangers to her; even those who dwelt near, and could watch her proceedings on all sides, had little intercourse with her, and if she inquired concerning individuals, the inmates of her house could give but scanty account of them. All was strange and cold and all was an endless tumult. Ilse felt in her dwelling as if she were on a small island in a stormy sea, and the strange life caused her much anxiety.
But, however gigantic and noisy the town seemed to Ilse, it was at bottom a friendly monster. Nay, it fostered perhaps, rather than otherwise, a secret inclination to poetic feelings and to private courtesy. It was true that the stern burgomasters had given up the custom of welcoming distinguished strangers with wine and fish, but still they sent their first morning greeting through their winged protégés, which had already delighted Ilse's father. The pigeons flew round Ilse's window, crowded against the panes and picked at the wood till Ilse strewed some food for them. When Gabriel removed the breakfast, he could not refrain from taking some credit for this to himself:
"I have for some weeks past scattered food before the window, thinking it would be agreeable to you to see the pigeons."
And when Ilse looked at him gratefully, he continued ingenuously:
"For I also came from the country, and when I first went to the barracks I shared my rations with a strange poodle."
But the town took care that other birds should become intimate with the lady from the country. On the very first day that Ilse went out alone (it was an unpleasant walk, for she could scarcely resist stopping before the showy shop-windows, and she colored when people looked boldly in her face), she had found some poor children in front of a confectioner's, who looked longingly through the windows at the pastry; this longing look bad touched her and she entered and distributed cakes among them. Since then, it happened that every noon there was a slight ringing at Ilse's door, and little children, in tattered clothes, produced empty cans, which were filled and carried home, to the great vexation of Mr. Hummel, who could not approve of such encouragement to rogues.