"In vain had Brockelmann made the huge pound-cake wreathed with the first snow-drops, and in vain placed a couple of blooming hyacinths on the breakfast-table. The door of Anna Maria's room had not been opened. A letter addressed to me had come from Klaus, requesting me to give to his sister the enclosed open letter. It was affectionately written, begging that she would soften her heart, and requesting a few lines from her hand. 'What sort of a home-coming will it be for Susanna and me,' he wrote, 'if the unhappy misunderstanding is not forgotten? We are ready to consider all as not having happened, if you will come to meet us in the old love. Be friendly to Susanna, too. I can honestly confess to you that I long to be at home, in our dear old house, regularly employed. A life like this here is nothing to me; I always hated idleness. Susanna's health, so far as temporary demands are made upon it, is satisfactory; but for her, too, I wish, especially now, the quiet of the less exciting life at home. Let me once more add to the heartiest wishes for your welfare the desire that we may soon meet again in the old fraternal love.' A dainty visiting-card, 'Susanna, Baroness von Hegewitz,' with a lightly scribbled wish for happiness, lay with the letter.
"In his letter to me Klaus repeated that he was longing for home, that he earnestly besought me to induce Anna Maria to be gentle, for he made his home-coming especially dependent upon her state of mind, as he could not possibly expose Susanna now to excitement and unfriendly treatment. But he cherished a strong desire to return at the beginning of spring at the latest, for this and other reasons.
"The two letters lay before me on the table; how should I make their contents known to Anna Maria? For she read no letters at all. And how would she receive the news of his return? A change in her feelings was not to be hoped for so soon, not even at the announcement of this glad news.
"Brockelmann had come in and complained, with a shake of her head, that Anna Maria had not eaten a mouthful to-day, and it was four o'clock already. 'She is growing old before her time,' added the old woman; 'does she look now as if she were under thirty? Yesterday I brushed her hair and found two long silvery threads in it. O Lord! and so young!'
"In the depth of twilight Anna Maria came suddenly into the room. She did not say 'Good evening' at all, but only, 'Please do not allude to my birthday, aunt!' And after a pause she added: 'Things cannot remain as they are here; Klaus will want to come home, and then there will be one too many in Bütze. I have been considering lately how I should manage not to be in his way, and have at last decided to go at once to the convent in B——.'
"'You would grieve Klaus to death, Anna Maria,' said I; 'it does not do to carry a thing too far. You are both defiant, you are both stubborn, but Klaus has been the first to extend his hand, and he still offers it. Here, read his letter, read it just this once, and be of a different mind.'
"I lit a candle, and pressed the letter into her hand; and she really read it. A slight blush rose to her pale face, then she nodded her head seriously. 'Believe me,' she said, 'he will really be best pleased if he does not find me here. Write him that, aunt. In this way no possible conflict can ensue.'
"'Anna Maria, you would—you could really go away from here?' cried I, pained. 'How can it be possible? Truly I had expected more feeling, more attachment in you. You can be heartless sometimes!'
"She was silent. 'Stürmer is coming back next month,' she said at last, in a strangely trembling voice, 'and I would like to be as far away as possible.'
"I sprang up, and threw my arms around her. 'My poor, dear child,' I begged, weeping, 'forgive me!'