Whilst Barbelle was occupied at her spinning wheel, Albert remarked that she was not so cheerful as usual, that there was a cast of seriousness on her countenance, which he had never observed before. Her mind appeared occupied with a thought that distressed her; nay, he even perceived a tear in her eye. He was so much struck by the change, as to wish to know the cause of it. "What have you at heart, girl?" he asked, just after her mother had left the room. "What makes you all at once so silent and serious? you even moisten your thread with tears!"
"And can you be gay, sir?" asked Barbelle, and looked at him inquisitively in the face. "I think I saw something once fall from your eye also, which moistened that scarf. I am sure it was given you by your love; and I was just thinking how much I grieved that you were not by her side."
Albert was taken by surprise at this remark of his young friend, and blushed deeply, which satisfied her she had made a better guess about the mysteries of the scarf than her mother had. "You are not far wrong," he answered, smiling; "but I am not uneasy on that account, as I hope to see her again very shortly."
"Ah! what joy there will be at Lichtenstein when that happy event comes to pass," said Barbelle, whose countenance had now resumed its wonted gaiety.
What could be the meaning of this, thought Albert? could her father have made known to her the secret of his love? "In Lichtenstein, did you say? what do you know about me and Lichtenstein?"
"Ah! I rejoice to think of the happiness the noble lady will have when she sees you again. I have heard how miserable she was when you were ill."
"Miserable, did you say?" cried Albert, springing upon his feet, and approaching her; "was she aware of my state? O speak! what do you know of Bertha? Are you acquainted with her? What has your father said of her?"
"My father has not said a single word to me; and I should not have known there was such a person as a lady of Lichtenstein, if my aunt was not her nurse. But you must not be offended at me, sir, if I listened a little; look ye, this is the way I know it." She then related how she became acquainted with the secret; and that her father was probably gone to Lichtenstein to give the lady comforting intelligence of his recovery.
Albert was painfully affected at this news. He had all along cherished the hope that Bertha would have heard of his misfortune and recovery at the same time, and have been spared much anxiety on his account. He well knew how the cruel uncertainty of his being safe from the vigilance of the enemy's patroles, even had his health been restored, would wear upon her spirits; perhaps affect her health also. Truly his own misfortune appeared nothing, when he compared it to the distress of that dear girl. How much had she not gone through in Ulm! how painful the separation from him! and now scarcely had she enjoyed the thought of his having quitted the colours of the League, scarcely had she been able to look forward to a more cheerful futurity, when she was terrified by the news of his being almost mortally wounded. And all this she was obliged to suffer in secret, to conceal it from the looks of her father--without possessing one single soul as a friend, to whose sympathy she could confide the secret of her heart--and from whom she might seek consolation. He now felt more than ever how necessary it became to hasten his departure for Lichtenstein; and his impatience was inflamed into anger, that the fifer of Hardt, otherwise a cautious and clever man, should just at this moment remain so long absent.
The maiden guessed his thoughts: "I plainly see you long to be away--oh, were but my father here to shew you the way to Lichtenstein! It would be imprudent in you to go alone, for there would be no difficulty in detecting your not being a Würtemberger by your speech. Do you know what? I'll run to meet my father, and hurry him home."