“It is gone,” he stammered.
“What?”
“It—it—my—my own.”
Where once the buildings of the Haidehof rose there now stretched a level plain; only a few trees spread out their miserable branches.
He could not accustom himself to this sight, and covered his face with his hands, while he shivered feverishly.
“Do not be sad,” she pleaded. “Papa would not have it rebuilt before you could make your own arrangements.”
“Let us go there,” he said.
“Please, please, not,” she replied, “there is nothing to be seen except a few heaps of ruins—at another time, when you are not so excited.”
“But where shall I sleep?”
“In the same room in which you were born—I have had it arranged for you, and your mother’s furniture put in. Can you still say now that you have lost your home?”