CHAPTER XVII.
"Anna Maria did not become ill, as we expected; hers was too firm, too strong a nature; but she had grown bitter and gloomy. She did not belong to that class of people whom a great sorrow makes tender.
"Joyless times followed that wedding—days and weeks, empty and cold. At first I had besought her to write to Klaus, not to let the breach become wider. She had answered me with a cold smile, and torn in two a letter from her brother after the first glance. I saved the pieces and found an effusion of honeymoon bliss, and nothing different could have been expected. Anna Maria had probably not observed the short business announcement that he had advantageously sold the estate in Silesia, and now thought of going to Paris with Susanna.
"Klaus wrote again, several times, to Anna Maria. She would carry a letter from him about with her all day, unopened, then occasionally tear it open, and begin to read, only to throw it into the fire before she had half finished. Later these letters to Anna Maria were discontinued. The old bailiff appeared now and then in the sitting-room, to tell her that the master had written him, and wished this and that, thus and so. Anna Maria would usually nod her head silently, and the man would stand, embarrassed, at the door a little while, and then go quietly away again.
"'Things are not as they ought to be any longer,' he declared to me. 'Formerly the Fräulein used to concern herself about every trifle, so that I often cursed her zeal; to-day anything may happen that will, it is all the same to her; and even if all the barns and granaries should burn down in the night, she would not stir.'
"It was true, Anna Maria no longer asked about anything; she seemed to have sunk into a regular apathy. It was a grief to see this young creature, from whom everything on which her heart was fixed was taken, and who now, without check or purpose, in the most tormenting pain of soul, shut her eyes and ears in dark defiance.
"'Diversion!' said the doctor.
"I looked at him in astonishment. 'I beg you, you have known the girl since her childhood, have you ever known a time when trifles and nonsense could give her pleasure, or could divert her at all from a sorrow?'
"'Nonsense!' replied the old man, 'but she is only a woman. She ought to marry, then everything would be different! It would be a pity if that girl should become a dried-up old maid.'
"I shook my head sadly.