All the rebellious discontent and pain caused by the betrayal of her love, which inwardly devoured her, could not resist the influence of the approaching festival of peace and goodwill. While she was industriously working at her presents, love gushed forth from every pore of her being. An impulse towards goodness and forgiveness mastered her, and even stifled that burning, indescribable bitterness which, as a rule, took possession of her whenever the beautiful woman's image rose before her eyes.
The day before Christmas Eve, the painting of the pocketbook was finished, if not altogether to her satisfaction, and the photograph of Frau von Kletzingk, which she had abstracted from the family album, graced the frame. Now the only difficulty remaining was, how to get her present to the nearest post-office in dead secrecy. Fortunately, an opportunity occurred just in the nick of time.
Grandmamma, who was preparing the servants' Christmas tables, found her supply of nuts and gingerbreads had run short, and that she had also miscalculated the number of aprons and woollen mittens required.
"One can't turn a dog out in weather like this," she said, "but if only I knew of some one who was going to Hoffmann's in Münsterberg I would ask him to act the part of a real Santa Claus."
Hertha, with a beating heart, offered to undertake the journey.
"My lamb is always to the fore when there is any kindness to be done," said grandmamma. "In the closed sleigh perhaps you won't find it too cold."
Half an hour later she was on the way. A snow-storm whirled through the air so thick that it seemed as if white towels were flapping over the sleigh windows. The fine frozen flakes, as hard as bullets, pelted against the glass as if huge shovelfuls of white sand were being hurled against it The voice of the storm whistled uncannily through the chinks. Yet it was cosy and warm underneath the fur rugs, and the twilight of the confined space was conducive to dreaming. It seemed to her as if a web as soft as velvet was being spun closer and closer around her, shutting her off from all the vexations of life.
She released her cramped hold on the precious pocket-book, and burying her head in the farthest corner, thought only good and noble things about him. The sleigh flew through the air like a bird, only as it inclined towards the stream did it begin to bump a little. She looked up in some alarm at the miniature icebergs with clouds of snow dancing above them on either side of the track which had now been made across the solid ice.
When she arrived in Münsterberg and the chance of sending off the pocket-book was deliciously within reach she became undecisive again. All she had to do was to say to the young man at Hoffmann's, "Pack this for me and address it to Herr von Sellenthin," and the thing would be done.
As she was reflecting this she beheld, with a start, his sleigh a few yards in front of her. She recognised him instantly, without his turning round. He wore a pea-jacket and high oilskin boots. The winter cap which grandmamma had knitted him out of grey fleecy wool was drawn over his ears. A hill of driven snow rested between his shoulders.