As they were passing the dining-room Isabeau saw the host busily repairing the damage where a bottle of Moselle had been spilt.
"What a pity," said she, "that I had to see just that. Fate really might have afforded me a more pleasing sight. And why must it be Moselle?"
[CHAPTER XIV]
In spite of all Isabeau's efforts no genuine cheerfulness would return to the group since the walk. But the worst of it was, at least for Botho and Lena, that they could not regain any real cheerfulness even after they had bidden good-bye to Botho's comrades and their ladies, and were beginning their homeward journey quite alone in a coupe that they had engaged. An hour later they had arrived, somewhat depressed, at the dimly lighted depot at Görlitz, and here, as they were getting out, Lena had at once asked quite urgently to be allowed to go the rest of the way through the city alone. "She was tired and out of sorts," she said, "and that was not good." But Botho would not be turned aside from what he considered to be his duty as an escort, and so the two together had traversed in a rickety old cab the long, long road by the canal, constantly trying to keep up a conversation about the excursion, and "how lovely it had been"--a terribly forced conversation, which had made Botho feel only too plainly how right Lena's feeling had been, when in an almost imploring tone she had begged him not to escort her further. Yes, the excursion to "Hankel's Ablage" from which they had expected so much, and which had actually begun so charmingly and happily, had ended only in a mingling of ill humor, weariness and discontent; and only at the last moment, when Botho, with a certain feeling of being to blame, had bidden Lena a friendly and affectionate "good night," did she run to him, take his hand and kiss him with almost passionate impetuosity: "Ah, Botho, things were not as they should have been to-day, and yet no one was to blame ... not even the others."
"Never mind, Lena."
"No, no. It was nobody's fault, that is the truth, and it cannot be altered. But the worst of it is, that it is true. If anyone is to blame, he can ask pardon and so make all good again. But that is no help to us. And then too, there is nothing to forgive."
"Lena ..."
I "You must listen for a moment. Oh, my dearest Botho, you are trying to hide it from me, but the end is coming. And quickly too, I know it."
"How can you say so!"
"To be sure, I only dreamed it," Lena went on. "But why did I dream it? Because all day long it had been in my mind. My dream was only what my heart told me. And what I wanted to tell you, Botho, and the reason why I ran after you a few steps was, that what I said last night holds good. That I could pass this summer with you was a joy to me, and always will be, even if I must be unhappy from this day forth."