The young girl woke up, uneasily conscious of a stranger's gaze, and looked at her with astonishment and momentary alarm.
"I have come up to pay you and your father a visit," said Frau Marianne, a little embarrassed, for the unrecognizing, inquiring glance showed her that Beate knew nothing of her. "Your father asked me to come and look you up some day."
"My father ...?" said Beate slowly and thoughtfully.
"How is your father?"
The child answered with a short, hard monosyllable: "Well."
"What a charming, lively gentleman he is!"
The young girl was silent, and looked straight before her with a troubled face. She did not know how to take this dainty, friendly person; the sweet awkwardness of youth lay heavy upon her, she was not used to talking with strangers, and the wonderful deep summer sleep still held her eyelids.
"What a nice place you have here!" said the older woman, hoping at last to find some echo to her friendliness. Beate gave a slight nod. "Is it true that your father eats a rose before breakfast every day in summer, in order to keep so fresh and young?"
"A rose ...?" The girl seemed to start out of a reverie. "Yes, I think I remember hearing him say that he used to do that. Did he tell you so?"
"Yes," said the widow, "and it must be a good system. When one sees him going along with that stately tread of his, one can see that it is."