I complained of a headache, and found ready credence. I understood that I was supposed to be upset by the scene in the Café of the Navigators. Aunt Deen even brought me secretly a frothing and tasty mulled egg, good for headaches, and so delicious that I enjoyed it in spite of my grief—at which I was inwardly humiliated.
“You’ll stay in bed till noon,” she said, as she carried away the cup, adding—she, too!—
“Poor child!”
At which my gratitude to her immediately vanished, for I had no idea of being considered a child any longer, since I was in love.
As soon as she was gone I dressed hastily, but not without a certain care, and ran up to the tower chamber, where grandfather received me with surprise, and some signs of pleasure.
“They let you come up?” he asked.
Why should he ask? I had asked permission of no one. He merely shrugged his shoulders and became the philosopher once more—“Oh, it’s all the same to me.”
The four windows of the tower commanded all the roads. It was my plan to watch from this lookout for the train of waggons. They were loaded, they would advance slowly. I calculated that I should have time to overtake them. Which way would they go? I had no notion. I imagined that they would take the road for Italy, and I watched that one especially.
I had stationed myself before one of the windows, half hidden by a piece of furniture, when there came a knock at the door and father entered. I thought he had come for me, and I at once knew that in spite of my resolutions I should not resist. He had the same calm and irresistible air of authority that he had had the evening before; but, absorbed in his purpose, he did not so much as see me, and as he walked directly to grandfather he even turned his back to me. Unless I intervened he would not know I was there. After a brief but courteous salutation he showed the newspaper he had in his hand—a local journal.
“This paper announces that you are presenting yourself for election at the head of the list of the Left. Is that so, father?”