"Very early the next morning I heard a carriage roll away from the court. I rang for Brockelmann. 'The gracious Frau has gone away with Isa; and has left a letter for Anna Maria down-stairs on the table.'
"'Have you delivered it yet?' I asked.
"The old woman nodded. 'There is some secret about it,' she said sadly; 'Isa was altogether too important.'
"Anna Maria came, very much surprised, with the open letter.
"'I don't understand it, aunt. Susanna has a rendezvous in Berlin with an acquaintance from Nice?'
"I shrugged my shoulders.
"'She is angry with me,' she whispered, with pale lips. 'She did love him, aunt; it is horrible!'
"'No, no, my child,' I tried to calm her, 'no, do not believe that.' But she made an averting gesture, and left me with tears in her eyes. Already a shadow lay over her happiness. Reluctantly I followed her down-stairs, and then went, almost aimlessly, into Susanna's room. Here all was topsy-turvy, just as occasionally in former times. In the haste of departure all sorts of things had been left lying about, on every chair some article of clothing, fans, ribbons, strips of black crape, and books, and in the fire-place was still a little heap of burned paper. The fragments of a letter had fallen beside it, in the hurry probably. I picked them up—a bold handwriting, English words.
"'I beg for something positive at last,' I read. 'To Berlin—no hindrance—my love—in a short time—mine forever—Robbin.'
"I sat quite still for a while, with the bits of paper in my hand. Now it gradually became clear to me—Susanna's restless, distraught manner, Isa's mysterious conduct, her words of yesterday, and the sudden departure. Susanna was gone, Susanna would never return; in a short time she would be the wife of another, of a perfect stranger; she would never belong to us any more!