"How are you, dear husband?" asked his wife anxiously.
"Well, well, mother dear, only a little tired still," he said in an uncertain voice. "Go down now and get the coffee ready. I will come soon!"
"Can I not help you? you are trembling so; you must have fever!" cried Frau Brigitta.
"Oh, no, I am quite well,--go down now, I pray you."
She obeyed, hard as it was for her, and below-stairs she could not help weeping, she knew not why. She prepared the coffee, and listened with a beating heart for Bernhard's step upon the stairs. Then, after twenty minutes, that seemed to her an eternity, she heard him coming with a slow, uncertain tread. Some great misfortune seemed upon its way to her. How strange!--he felt for the door before opening it. He must be very sick. She ran towards him, but his look reassured her. He was pale indeed, but his expression was as calm and gentle as ever. He laid his hand upon her arm. "Well, dear wife, now let us breakfast. I have kept you waiting for me!"
"Oh, yes, I waited," said Frau Brigitta, leading him to the table. "Have you any appetite? Do you feel any better?"
"Oh, yes, but pour out the coffee for me, my dear. I am still somewhat fatigued."
"That I will." And the old woman poured the coffee into his cup. "Here is the milk." And she placed the pitcher near his hand.
Herr Leonhardt took it carefully, and touched the edge of his cup with his hand, that he might not pour in too much; but, in spite of his care, he spilt the hot milk upon his fingers. He said nothing, but secretly wiped it off and slowly put his cup to his lips. His wife laid a piece of bread upon his plate, and this also he ate slowly.
"Is it not good?" asked Brigitta.