The mother sat down at the edge of the ditch, and looked across at their sad home to which all her care was devoted. The outlines of the buildings stood out clearly against the evening sky. One lonely light twinkled from the kitchen.
Suddenly she spread out her arms, and called out over the silent heath, “Oh, I am happy!”
Paul clung to her side almost anxiously, for never yet had he heard a similar cry from her. He was so much accustomed to her tears and her sorrow that this exultant joy seemed to him quite uncanny.
And then it occurred to him: “What will father say when he hears of this walk? Will he not scold mother and be even more angry with her than usual?” A sullen defiance took possession of him; he set his teeth, then he stroked his mother’s hand consolingly, kissed her, and whispered,
“He shall not harm you!”
“Who?” she asked, with a shudder.
“Father,” he said, softly and hesitatingly.
She sighed deeply but answered nothing, and silently and sadly they went on.
The gray woman had flitted across their path and spoiled the moment of joy, and it was the only one that Fate had still in store for Frau Elsbeth.
Next day there was a bad hour between herself and her husband. He called her undutiful and dishonorable. By her begging she had added disgrace to poverty.