The latter stood at the window, from which one could see into the courtyard. She watched the drifting snow, flying clouds of which waltzed above the stables, and whipped from the slates of the roof, the white masses clung to the fanes like linen flags. The wind howled and sighed in the trees, and on the side that faced the wind their trunks were encrusted with great icicles.
Here and there on the lawn patches of the turf were visible, and within them the withered trembling blades of grass looked like corpses brought out of their grave by magic and made to dance a weird measure. A pale light escaping from the clouds illumined the dusk uncannily. The smallest strip of sulphurous yellow showed the place where the sun had gone down.
Hertha in her happy childish years had believed that the Christchild came down to earth on a sunbeam. But there was none to be seen now. Ah! how long ago it seemed since those days! To-day she felt old and weary of life.
Eternities of gnawing pain and suffering seemed to lie behind her. Yet before her she looked out expectantly for a sweet, vague, dreadful something, the prospect of which filled her young soul with blissful melancholy and brought tears of holy thankfulness into her eyes. It was like a low and mysterious whispering, an elegy and a song of spring in one. She thought of things that promise to blossom into vigorous life--a rose-bush covered with dewy buds; a bird's nest filled with yellow speckled eggs--such as these were the sacred hopes and secrets that lie buried and cherished in the depths of the soul.
And Christmas, after all was said and done, meant love and peace; goodwill and forgiveness.
The clock struck five, greyer became the masses of snow outside, and more and more did the roof of the stables become one with the sky, and still he didn't come. Already the hum of many voices proceeded from the servants' hall. Impatience had brought the guests to the house long before the bell was to sound. But grandmamma had been prepared for this emergency and had ordered an enormous supply of hot coffee and buns to be in readiness.
Hertha wanted to make herself useful and went down to them. There they stood in long files exhaling the odour of fustian and warming their benumbed fingers on their coffee-mugs. Johanna's ragged school was represented in full force. At first she had intended to entertain her pupils under her own roof, not wishing to crave hospitality for them from her sullen brother. But at Hertha's earnest request and grandmamma's assurances that Leo would not object, she had determined to bring her little people over to the castle for the festive evening.
Old and young greeted, beaming, the universally popular "gracious little countess." She took her favourites in turn on her lap, listened to detailed complaints of winter hardships from the mothers, and regarded herself altogether as a good angel. But time went on and he didn't come.
When it struck six the company began to stream out into the corridors and press towards the door of the salon. There they grew eager and noisy. Though each knew perfectly well that his plate would be standing ready for him in its proper place, they fought with knees and elbows to get in front of each other.
Hertha went back to the morning-room, because she was no longer needed by any one. Grandmamma was pacing up and down excitedly, Johanna was staring at the lamp, and Elly yawned and fidgeted with the fringe of the table-cloth.