The other did not hear, or if he did his thoughts were too confused to understand.
"Freyer! Only tell me what I can do to strengthen you. I'll make a fire, and give you anything to eat that you would like."
"Whatever--you--have!" Freyer gasped with much difficulty.
"May God help us--he is starving." Ludwig could scarcely control his tears. "Keep quiet--I'll come presently and bring you something!" he said, hurrying out to get all the modest larder contained. He would not wake his sisters--this was no theme for feminine gossip. He soon prepared with his own hands a simple bread porridge into which he broke a couple of eggs, he had nothing else--but at least it was warm food. When he took it to his friend Freyer had grown so weak that he could scarcely hold the spoon, but the nourishment evidently did him good.
"Now sleep!" said Ludwig. "Day is dawning. I'll go down to the village and see if I can get you some boots and another coat."
A mute look of gratitude from Freyer rewarded the faithful care, then his eyes closed, and his friend gazed at him with deep melancholy.
[CHAPTER XXXII.]
TO THE VILLAGE
The burgomaster's house, with its elaborate fresco, "Christ before Pilate," still stood without any signs of life in the grey dawn. The burgomaster was asleep. He had been ill very frequently. It seemed as if the attack brought on by Freyer's flight had given him his death-blow, he had never rallied from it. And as his body could not recuperate, his mind could never regain its tone.
When Ludwig Gross' violent ring disturbed the morning silence of the house the burgomaster's wife opened the door with a face by no means expressive of pleasure. "My husband is still asleep!" she said to the drawing-master.