"The day after to-morrow!" she cried. "Then I can not be at home for six days, and the Sabbath as well! Seven days—that is a whole week! Oh my God! my God!"
She sat down in her corner again, and pressed her hands to her face. But she could not shut out the pictures that had haunted her on the way. Again it seemed that she heard the feeble cry of "Mother!... Mother!" coming through the walls.
The travelers had overheard her conversation with the carrier, and when they saw the woman's despair, asked him what was wrong.
Simon raised his hat respectfully to the gentlefolks, and related Miriam's story.
When he had finished, the husband and wife looked at one another.
"It is dreadful, is it not, Ludmilla?" said the forester. "What a horrible superstition!..."
"It is horrible, Karl," answered she. The happy expression left her face, and she looked at Miriam with the deepest compassion.
The poor woman still sat motionless with her hands pressed upon her face. She was shaken with physical pain and feverishness; but the storm within her breast was infinitely greater.
The forester paid his bill, and his coachman came and announced that the carriage was ready. The travelers put on their overcoats, but they did not seem in a hurry to start.
"Karl," said the young wife, undecidedly.