"Certainly. And why not? Every class and calling is worthy of respect. And a washerwoman too. Do you know, Mutterchen, that here in Berlin there was a famous poet who wrote a poem about his old washerwoman?"
"Is it possible?"
"Of course it is possible. Moreover it is true. And do you know what he said at the end? He said that he wished he could live and die like his old washerwoman. Yes, that is what he said."
"Is it possible?" said the old woman to herself once more, simpering a little.
"And do you know, Mutterchen, now don't you forget it, he was quite right, and I say the very same? Oh yes, you laugh to yourself. But just look about you here. How do you live? Like the good Lord in France. In the first place, you have your house and hearth, and then the garden and Frau Dörr. And then you have Lena. Haven't you? But what has become of her?"
He would have gone on talking, but just then Lena came in with a tray, on which was a carafe of water and some cider, for which the Baron had a preference not easily to be understood, but for his belief in its wonderful curative properties.
"Why Lena, how you spoil me. But you should not offer it to me so formally. It seems just as if I were at the club. You must bring it to me in your hand, it tastes best that way. And now give me your little hand, and let me stroke it. No, no, the left one; that is nearest the heart. And now sit right there, between Herr and Frau Dörr, so that you will be opposite me and I can see you all the time. I have been happy all day, looking forward to this time."
Lena laughed.
"Perhaps you don't believe it? But I can prove it to you, Lena, for I have brought you something from the fine party that we had yesterday. And when one has a little present to bring, he always feels happy about the girl who is to receive it. Isn't that so, my dear Dörr?"
Dörr grinned, but Frau Dörr said: "Lord, he? He bring presents? Dörr is all for scraping and saving. That is the way with gardeners. But I am curious to see what the Herr Baron has brought."