"Wh--y--Yes!" said the child, shrugging his shoulders. Then he looked tenderly into her face. "I love you better."
"That is not right, Josepha is your mother--you must love her best."
The boy shook his head thoughtfully. "But I would rather have you for my mamma."
"That cannot be--unfortunately--I must not."
The child gazed at her with an expression of sorrowful disappointment. =At last he found an expedient. "But in Heaven--when I go to Heaven--you will be my mother there, won't you?"
The countess shuddered--an indescribable pain pierced her heart, yet she was happy, a blissful anguish! Tears streamed from her eyes and, clasping the child tenderly, she gently kissed him.
"Yes, my child! In Heaven--perhaps I may be your mother!"
Josepha now brought in the milk and wanted to give it to him, but the boy would not take it from her, he insisted that the countess must hold the bowl. She did so, but her hand trembled and Josepha was obliged to help her, or the whole contents would have been spilled. She averted her face.
"She cannot even give her child anything to drink," thought Josepha, as she moved about the room, putting it in order.
"Josepha, please leave me alone a little while," said the countess, almost beseechingly.