* * * * *
It was she who came to him. She sought him out at home.
One morning when he came back to dinner Louisa proudly told him that a lackey in breeches and livery had left a letter for him, and she gave him a large black-edged envelope, on the back of which was engraved the Kerich arms. Jean-Christophe opened it, and trembled as he read these words:
"Frau Josepha von Kerich requests the pleasure of Hof Musicus
Jean-Christophe Krafft's company at tea to-day at half-past five."
"I shall not go," declared Jean-Christophe.
"What!" cried Louisa. "I said that you would go."
Jean-Christophe made a scene, and reproached his mother with meddling in affairs that were no concern of hers.
"The servant waited for a reply. I said that you were free to-day. You have nothing to do then."
In vain did Jean-Christophe lose his temper, and swear that he would not go; he could not get out of it now. When the appointed time came, he got ready fuming; in his heart of hearts he was not sorry that chance had so done violence to his whims.
Frau von Kerich had had no difficulty in recognizing in the pianist at the concert the little savage whose shaggy head had appeared over her garden wall on the day of her arrival. She had made inquiries about him of her neighbors, and what she learned about Jean-Christophe's family and the boy's brave and difficult life had roused interest in him, and a desire to talk to him.