Suddenly the flame of the candle leaped up and died out. Fritz started and gazed at the child--it was dead!
CHAPTER X.
The next morning Fritz received a letter from his father enclosing a draft for a thousand-gulden note, coupled with the old Count's cordial and anxious words. His son's last letter had reached him in the most complicated roundabout way; he had just returned from a voyage to Australia, and had known nothing of Fritz's unfortunate circumstances.
In reply Fritz merely wrote, "The child is dead."
It was the afternoon after the funeral, and Fritz was all alone in the house. Charlotte had taken the children for a little walk; there was a sharp ring at his door. He rose and opened it. A white-haired old gentleman of distinguished mien, asked, "Is Count Malzin----"
"Father!" stammered Fritz.
The old man advanced a step, eagerly scanned the face that had grown wan and haggard almost past recognition, then opened wide his arms and clasped his son to his heart. All anger, all bitterness on both sides was forgotten.
They sat down in the dim, sordid room in which Siegi had died, and Fritz laid bare his heart.
They sat close enough to read the deep sympathy in each other's eyes, and to hear each other's low tones, and in the midst of his inconsolable grief, Fritz rejoiced in being once more with some one who understood him, some one to whose loving compassion he could confide the wretchedness of his life.