Had the professor--for so he obstinately persisted in calling Jansen--any further orders to give?
Jansen shook his head and entered his workshop. He found Julie's note. She begged him, in Italian, which they had been studying together for some months, to release her from the agonizing uncertainty in regard to his mood and in regard to what he intended to do. She was only going out to make a visit to Irene, and then she would stay at home and expect him. The note closed with a few loving words and another earnest request for him to come to her that evening, all of which did him unspeakable good.
But he remained firm in his determination not to go to her until he had cleared up the whole matter.
He sat down on the sofa and had just begun to draw up a small table, in order to write her a few comforting lines, when a quick knock on the door interrupted him.
He was startled to see Frances's nurse come in. This little woman, who had a houseful of children and a head full of cares, seldom visited him--and never without her little charge.
Her black eyes, usually so cheery, began to spy anxiously about in every corner of the studio, the moment she had entered it.
"Is your child here?" she stammered breathlessly.
"With me? No. What made you think so?"
He stepped up to her hastily. "What is the matter, my good woman? Did you send little Frances here?"
"Not here! Oh! Heavens!--but perhaps she may be up-stairs with Fräulein Angelica--without your knowing about it. I will go right up--"