I sat one afternoon for the first time in an arm-chair opposite the window. It was June, and the sun streamed warmly and richly in. The room was scented with a bunch of wall-flowers and another of mignonette, which Stella had brought in that morning from the market. Stella was very kind to me, but in a superior, patronizing way. I had always felt deferentially backward before the superior abilities of both my sisters, but Stella quite over-awed me by her decided opinions and calm way of setting me right upon all possible matters.
This afternoon she had gone out with Merrick to enjoy a little fresh air. I was left quite alone, with my hands in my lap, feeling very weak, and looking wistfully toward the well-remembered windows on the other side of the street.
They were wide open; I could see inside the room. No one was there—Friedhelm and Eugen had gone out, no doubt.
The door of my room opened, and Frau Lutzler came in. She looked cautiously around, and then, having ascertained that I was not asleep, asked in a nerve-disturbing whisper if I had everything that I wanted.
“Everything, thank you, Frau Lutzler,” said I. “But come in! I want to speak to you. I am afraid I have given you no end of trouble.”
“Ach, ich bitte sie, Fräulein! Don’t mention the trouble. We have managed to keep you alive.”
How they all did rejoice in having won a victory over that gray-winged angel, Death! I thought to myself, with a curious sensation of wonder.
“You are very kind,” I said, “and I want you to tell me something, Frau Lutzler: how long have I been ill?”
“Fourteen days, Fräulein; little as you may think it.”
“Indeed! I have heard nothing about any one in that time. Who has been made musik-direktor in place of Herr von Francius?”