It was long past two o'clock.
"Let us part now, dear friend," said Fränzchen. "She has not come home,—she has taken her destiny into her own hands; may God have mercy on her and protect her on her way. Let us part now, dear friend; I will watch over this poor girl here and tomorrow morning we will talk over the rest."
"Tomorrow morning," said Hans. "It seems to me as if this night would never come to an end. I am afraid of the morning for, in spite of all my doubts, I know that it will come. Oh, Miss Fränzchen, it has been a long and yet a short, short night. It has been terrible and yet full of sweetness. God bless you, Franziska. Oh, what shall I say to you,—how shall we be when the new day has come?"
Franziska lowered her head and gave Hans Unwirrsch her hand in silence. They parted from each other troubled and blissful. They could not yet quite grasp the blessing which this dark, weird night had brought them both. They parted, and their hearts beat loudly.
Summary of Chapters XXIV to XXXIII
[The morning came shrouded in gray mist. Hans and Fränzchen stepped to the windows shivering. They had not slept; they drew long breaths and greeted the gray light thankfully. They were no longer alone;—Hans and Fränzchen had gained a great, great deal in the night in which Kleophea Götz had left her home.
At seven o'clock the French girl waked from her deathlike slumber and began to cry violently. Fränzchen spoke to her soothingly and then began to talk earnestly and urgently of the future. Sobbingly Henriette replied that she wanted to go home to her own country and to be good and work hard and make her own living according to God's will. And Fränzchen Götz put all her worldly treasures into the girl's hands and then—monsieur le curé knocked at the door and added his father's venerable and curious watch to what Franziska had given, as well as a purse containing five hard thalers and a few small coins.
At eight o'clock Henriette Trublet stepped out again from the Privy Councillor's house accompanied by Hans and Franziska as far as the garden gate. At parting she raised her lowered head and said: "The good God vill reward you for vat you have done for me. I vill zink of you alvays and alvays. I vill go and I vill not tire. I vill seek zem and find. Malheur à lui!"
Then she disappeared in the thick fog. The postman came up hurriedly and handed Hans a letter from Kleophea addressed to her father.
Hans quietly beckoned to the man-servant: "We have a message to go immediately to your master. How long will you need to take a letter there?" Jean thought that with good horses he could get there by one o'clock. At nine he drove away with a package containing Kleophea's letter and another from Franziska;—by four o'clock the parents could be home. They came between three and four.