One evening, in the dusk, when they had all left his room for a short time, and old Maren alone was sitting by his bedside, he suddenly opened his eyes and gazed around him, as if he were trying to recollect where he was, and what had happened to him. He then asked about the children. Maren clasped her hands in joy that her master had recovered to consciousness again, while he repeated his question, and added:
'Is it not true, Maren, that the boy is called Ludvig, and the girl Georgia? These are both my own names--'
'Well, that is very natural,' said Maren, significantly. 'What else should they be called?'
'Is my cousin Warner here?' asked the invalid soon after.
He was there, and Maren went immediately to call him. Herr Kraft made a sign to him to sit down near his couch, and another to Maren to leave them by themselves.
'Cousin,' he said, 'I see now how things are--I am in my daughter's house. I have been very ill, but I did not lose the use of my eyes, and Louise has watched by my bed, and attended me.'
Herr Warner nodded in affirmation of what he had said.
'You knew it all along. You took the place of her father when I threw her off--is it not so?'
Warner nodded again; he was so surprised to hear a person generally so stern and overbearing speak thus gently, that he could not utter a word for a moment.
'But her husband was not named Warner, and he had only a very small property, not such a large place as this? How are all these discrepancies to be reconciled?'