"Why?" asked Fritz, softly.
"I have done wrong," said Laura. "Fritz, I should like to return. What will that woman think of me? She saw right well that we were not engaged."
"But are we not?" asked the Doctor, astonished. "I consider myself as decidedly engaged, and the friends to whom we go will clearly look upon the affair in that point of view."
"I conjure you, Fritz, to leave me alone now; what I feel I cannot confess to any human being; if I become calmer I will knock at the window."
Fritz again climbed on the coach-box, and Laura passed a sorrowful hour in the solitude of her carriage.
She felt something strange on her cloak, looked with alarm at the empty seat, and started when she saw the demon sitting next her, the enemy of her life, the red dog. He stretched out his forefeet, and raised his moustache high in the air, as if he would say: "I am carrying you off. The Doctor is sitting on the box, and I, the mischief-maker, the misanthropist, who have caused so much sorrow to this poetic soul, who have been cursed in her journal in both prose and verse, I, the common and unworthy being who used to lie at her feet, sit by her side the gloomy figure of her fate, the spectre of her youth, and the bad omen of her future life. I lie in the place where, in her childish poetry, she has long dreamt of another, and I mock at her tears and anxiety." He licked his beard and looked from under his long hair contemptuously at her. Laura knocked at the window, resolved to leave the carriage herself and sit upon the box.
Meanwhile the mothers sat anxiously in the hostile houses. Since her daughter had left, Mrs. Hummel trembled for fear of the anger of her husband. She knew from Laura that he had not objected to the journey to Bielstein, and only wished to appear unconscious of it in order to maintain his defiant character towards his neighbors. But of what was to follow, he would give no information; when it came to a decision as to what was to become of Laura and the Doctor, she felt there was everything to fear from him. Mrs. Hummel had encouraged the journey in order to compel the consent of the family tyrant; but now she felt distrustful of her own cleverness. In her sad perplexity she put her mantle on, over her morning dress, and hastened out of the house to seek consolation from her neighbor.
The heart of Mrs. Hahn was burdened with similar cares; she also was prepared, in her morning dress and mantle, to go over to Mrs. Hummel. The women met outside the two houses, and began an exchange of motherly anxieties. They made use of the neutral ground that lay between the hostile domains for quiet intercourse, and forgot that they were standing in the street. The bells sounded and the church-goers returned, yet they were still standing together talking over the past and future. The comedian approached them elegantly dressed; as he drew near he made a dramatic salutation with his hand. Mrs. Hummel looked with anxiety at her favorite guest, she feared his conjectures and still more his sharp tongue. His face was radiant with pleasure and his gestures were sympathetic.
"What a surprise," he exclaimed, in the tone of a warm-hearted uncle; "what an agreeable surprise? The old quarrel made up; wreaths of flowers from one house to the other; the discord of the fathers is atoned for by the love of the children. I offer my hearty congratulations."