Laying both hands upon his shoulder, Marie looked at him with eyes beaming with affection, renewing her vow that she would never love or marry another. “We will be courageous in hope, and brave in constancy. Listen to me, my beloved; listen, my mother—I betrothed myself to this dear man! You can prevent my becoming his wife now, but in four years I am of age, and then I shall be my own mistress. Then, my dear Philip, I will be your wife. Let us wait and hope!”
“Yes, Marie, we will wait and hope.—Farewell! Do not forget that there is a great God in heaven, and a great king upon earth.—Farewell!”
He pressed the hand clasped in his own passionately to his tips, and felt from the pressure of her delicate fingers a renewed vow of constancy. Buoyed with this hope in the sad hour of parting, they were happy and joyful. Marie accompanied him to the door—still hand in hand.
“Presume not to go a step farther,” commanded her mother, and Marie, obedient to her wishes, remained near the door, bowed to Moritz, and never ceased to regard him, with love beaming in her eyes, until the door closed. Outside stood old Trude, to tell him that she would be at the baker’s at seven o’clock every morning, and wait for his commissions, “and may be I shall have something to bring you,” she said. “So do come!”
“I will, my good Trude; you are the only person who is friendly to us. Watch over my angel, console her with your affection, and when they are too hard upon her, come to me.”
“I surely will, but listen—they are already quarrelling with my good angel. I will go in, to serve as a lightning-rod for dear Marie. I often do it, and it pleases me when the lightning strikes, and dashes my hard old head to the ground, but does not hurt me at all—Farewell, Herr Moritz, the lightning-rod must go in.”
Trude entered suddenly and noiselessly the sitting-room, and interrupted the angry reproaches which Frau von Werrig hurled against Marie in a furious stream of words. The countess’s rage turned against Trude, who stared as if to challenge her. “What do you want? How dare you enter uncalled?”
“I thought you were calling deaf old Trude, or why did you scream so?” replied Trude, tartly.
“Perhaps it was the general. Ah! there lies the poor, dear old man, groaning and crying, and nobody has any pity for him.”
“Ah! Trude, it is good luck that you are here,” whined the general. “No one troubles himself about me. Quick, bring warm covering for my leg, the pain is fearful!”