“All people are pigs,” she declared. “Nothing they come in contact with remains clean. I guard myself as well as I can.”
Letitia sat through it all smiling in her own arch and tender way, and her mere presence lent to the common things about her a breath of romance.
X
Her estate having finally been sold at auction, and she herself being quite without means, Frau von Febronius had gone to live with her younger sister at Stargard in Pomerania. In order to spare her daughter the spectacle of that final débâcle she had sent the girl to the countess in Weimar.
The three sisters were all widowed. The one in Stargard had been married to a circuit judge named Stojenthin. She lived on her government pension and the income of a small fortune that had been her dowry. She had two sons who strolled through the world like gipsies, wrapped their sloth in a loud philosophy, and turned to their aunt the countess whenever they were quite at the end of all their resources.
The countess yielded every time. Both young men knew the style of letter-writing that really appealed to her. “They will get over sowing their wild oats,” said the countess. She had been awaiting that happy consummation for years, and in the meantime sent them food and money.
It was not so simple to help Letitia. When the girl arrived she possessed just three frocks which she had outgrown and a little linen. The countess ordered robes from Vienna, and fitted out her niece like an heiress.
Letitia permitted herself calmly to be adorned. The eyes of men told her that she was charming. The countess said: “You are destined for great things, my darling.” She took the girl’s head between her two gloved hands and kissed her audibly on the porcelain clearness of her forehead.
Nor was she satisfied with what she had done. She desired to create a solid foundation and help her niece in a permanent way. That desire brought to her mind the forest of Heiligenkreuz.