“My friends think I have run away on purpose?” repeated Gretel, incredulously. “But they don’t; they couldn’t think such a thing.”
“Very well, come and look at the paper Rudolph has to show you. But first you must drink this good soup. I have taken great trouble in making it for you.”
Gretel took the cup and hastily swallowed a portion of the contents. She was trembling with weakness and excitement, but she suddenly felt wide awake.
“I can’t swallow any more,” she said, setting the half-emptied cup on the floor. “May I go to your husband now?”
“Yes, he is waiting for you in the sitting-room.”
Gretel rose feebly. She was so weak that she almost fell against the wall, and was forced to clutch Mrs. Becker’s arm for support. The woman looked a little frightened.
“That comes because you will not eat,” she said, reproachfully. “I have told you that it is necessary to eat.” But she put her arm round the trembling girl not unkindly and led her along the narrow hall to the room where she had taken coffee with the Beckers on that afternoon, which seemed such ages ago.
It was the first time that Gretel had been allowed to leave her prison, and the sudden change from the dark little trunk-room to the sunlit parlor made her so giddy that she instinctively closed her eyes and leaned more heavily on Mrs. Becker’s arm.
“She is going to faint,” she heard a voice say, which sounded as if it came from somewhere a long way off, and then she found herself lying on the sofa with Mrs. Becker bathing her forehead, and Mr. Becker looking down at her, with stern, angry eyes.
“Do you feel better?” Mrs. Becker inquired anxiously.