"Farewell, and, if I can serve you in anything, command me.
Johannes."
When she first received this letter, she had sunk fainting into Gretchen's arms. Since then Möllner's name had never passed her lips, and almost five months had gone by. She had not allowed a thought of him to enter her mind, except when, as now, some other subject had brought him vividly before her, and then she punished herself by quickly thinking of other things. Whence came the tears that now trickled down her cheeks? Her cold, benumbed hands trembled as she wiped them away. She bravely choked them down, and thought--poor child!--that she was not crying, when she swallowed down the bitter drops that welled up from her heart. Such weeping is the bitterest of all.
The shades of night fell fast, and she could no longer see to sew. There was an end of a candle on the shelf, and she lighted it, but it scarcely burned half an hour before it died out and she was left in darkness. She began to arrange and open the narrow beds that stood against the wall of the room, and, as she did so, thought of her good Willmers. How kind it was of the Frau Staatsräthin to take the faithful soul into her service! Fie! thinking of him again! What weakness! The little room grew darker and darker. The panes began to be covered with frost, and the light from the neighbour's room opposite glittered in prismatic colours upon the ice-flowers and trees. They were wealthier over there than Ernestine, for they could afford a light. They had not poured their petroleum on the salad, to be sure, but then they had not been visited by the Snow-queen! Ernestine sat down wearily by her bed, and rested her head on the pillow. She felt better when her body was in entire repose, she thought.
How wearily she had lain upon her soft bed six months ago in Hochstetten! And how anxious she had been to live! Would it have been so terrible to lose such a life as this? Then it seemed as if a strong, tender hand clasped hers, and she felt a quick, anxious breath upon her brow. She knew it well, and the gentle questioning that was sure to follow,--knew that firm, quiet pressure upon her heart to count its pulsations. And if she had only clasped it fast,--that strong, tender hand,--she would not now be sitting here alone in the dark! "Oh, Johannes!" she gasped, and extended her arms. Then there was a noise of some one stumbling upstairs,--that could not be Gretchen. There was a knock at the door. "Who is there?" cried Ernestine, frightened.
"Postman," a rough voice answered from without.
"Oh, a letter from the agent," thought Ernestine, opening the door.
"Four kreutzers," said the man, handing her a letter.
Ernestine stood aghast. "Is it not prepaid? I--I have not a single kreutzer in the world--we shall have no money until to-morrow."
"No kreutzers, and no light? Hm--hm! Such a beautiful lady, with no money in her pocket? Well, well, you can pay me to-morrow. I'll trust you until then."