No, no, that was Fränzchen's soft, sweet voice and Fränzchen had laid her hand on the shoulder of the poor girl who, with hidden face, was trembling and sobbing. Fränzchen Götz spoke in good, Parisian French to poor Henriette Trublet, but still Hans, who knew the language only from books, knew what she said. And the stranger raised her tearful eyes at the first sound of her mother tongue, listened with all her soul and then kissed Fränzchen's hand.
Speaking in her mother tongue she told her sad story for the second time.
As she went on Franziska looked more and more anxiously at Hans; she gripped the table against which she was leaning with a trembling hand and when the Parisian had finished she cried:
"Oh, Mr. Unwirrsch, and Kleophea? Kleophea! Where is Kleophea? If only she would come—now, now!"
She went to the window and opened it. The wind caught the sash and nearly tore it from her hand, the lamp flared with the wild gust; the gas flames at the edge of the park were blown about in their glass globes, throwing red, uncertain flickering lights on the street, but the street was empty and a carriage the sound of which seemed unbearably long in approaching, drove by without stopping.
"And her father, her mother! What is to be done, oh, what is to be done, Mr. Unwirrsch?"
Hans looked at his watch.
"It is nine," he said. "Calm yourself, Miss Franziska. She certainly will not stay out much longer; we must be patient and wait, that is all we can do."
Fränzchen had turned to the stranger; in spite of her anxiety and excitement she still had comfort enough for poor Henriette. She spoke to her softly and Henriette kissed her hand again and again. Hans stood at the window and listened to the soft words of the two women and to the loud voice of the gale. Now and then a figure passed through the flickering light of the gas lanterns, several more carriages drove by, but still Kleophea Götz did not come.