He looked at her in some surprise. "Yes, but then I do not understand----" he murmured. "What is the real matter with you?--does anything worry you?---tell me--two can bear it more easily."
"No, no, I have nothing to tell," she replied, hastily. "Nothing at all--I am tired, not very well."
"Yes, that you decidedly are not," he admitted, and anxiously scrutinized her thin cheeks and the dark shadows under her eyes. "We must consult a physician."
"We consulted him four weeks ago," she answered, "and he advised me to drink Louisen-Quelle, and I drink Louisen-Quelle." She folded her hands resignedly over her breast, with an expression as if to say how little faith she had in Louisen-Quelle, and how indifferent her health was to her.
"Perhaps a trip to the sea-shore would do you good," proposed Erwin.
"Could you go away now?" she asked, apparently calmly, but with her heart full of distrust.
"Now? Hardly! But you could take Miss Sidney and Litzi with you, or, as far as I am concerned, both children."
"With the necessary servants that would cost a good deal," replies Elsa, discouragingly.
"Well, we are not quite such beggars that we need think of that when it is a question of your health," he cries, almost angry. "We have saved long enough and can now spend something. Decide upon Cowes; perhaps I can join you there later."
For a while she gazes silently and gloomily before her, then a slight shudder runs over her.