The landlady handed her the paper silently, and then turned aside in order not to show the tears which, at the sight of the pale, gentle young wife, had filled her eyes.
Anna rose and quietly placed the money on the table. “I thank you, madame, for all the attention and kindness I have met with at your house,” she said. “It only seems to me that my bill is much too moderate. You must have omitted many items, for it is impossible that I should not have used up any more than that during my prolonged sojourn in Munich.”
“Madame,” said the landlady, deeply moved, “I should be happy if you permitted me to take no money at all from you, but I know that that would offend you, and for that reason I brought you my bill. If you allow me to follow the promptings of my heart, I should say, grant me the honor of having afforded hospitality to so noble, brave, and faithful a lady, and, if you should consent, I should be courageous enough to utter a request which I dare not make now, because you would deem it egotistic.”
“Oh, tell me what it is,” said Anna, mildly; “for the last two weeks I have begged so much, and my requests were so often refused, that it would truly gratify me to hear from others a request which I might be able to fulfil.”
“Well, then, madame,” said the landlady, taking Anna’s hand and kissing it respectfully, “I request you to stay here and not to depart. Afford me the pleasure of keeping you here in my house, of taking care and nursing you as a mother would nurse her daughter. I am old enough to be your mother, and you, my poor, beloved child, you need nursing, for you are sick.”
“I feel no pain—I am not sick,” said Anna, with a smile which was more heart-rending than loud lamentations.
“You are sick,” replied the landlady; “your hands are burning with fever, and the roses blooming on your cheeks are not natural, but symptoms of your inward sufferings. During your whole sojourn in my house you have scarcely touched the food that was placed before you; frequently you have not gone to bed at night, and, instead of sleeping, restlessly paced your room. A fever is now raging in your delicate body, and if you do not take care of yourself, and use medicine, your body will succumb.”
“No, it will not succumb,” said Anna; “my heart will sustain it.”
“But your heart, too, will break, if you do not take care of yourself,” exclaimed the landlady, compassionately. “Stay here, I beseech you, do not depart. Stay as a guest at my house!”
Anna placed her burning hand on the shoulder of the landlady, and looked at her long and tenderly.