Part 36 (1/2)

”Where?--Well, as far as the frontier, perhaps. Anyhow, as far as the contents of that bag, which Moczli handed into the carriage after her ladys.h.i.+p, will last.--Hai-dia-do.”

Now it was really exuberance of spirits that made old Marton sing in Tyrolese manner, that refrain, ”hai-hai-dia-hia-do.”

He actually danced on the dusty road--a galop.

Was it possible? That madonna face, than which I have never seen a more beautiful, more enchanting--either before or since that day!

CHAPTER XI

”PAROLE D'HONNEUR”

Two days after Lorand's disappearance a travelling coach stopped before Mr. Fromm's house. From the window I recognized coach-horses and coachman: it was ours.

Some one of our party had arrived.

I hastened down into the street, where Father Fromm was already trying very excitedly to turn the leather curtain that was fastened round the coach....

No, not ”some one!” the whole family was here! All who had remained at home. Mother, grandmother, and the Fromms' f.a.n.n.y.

Actually mother had come: poor mother!

We had to lift her from the carriage: she was utterly broken down. She seemed ten years older than when I had last seen her.

When she had descended, she leaned upon f.a.n.n.y on the one side, on the other upon me.

”Only let us go in, into the house!” grandmother urged us on, convinced that poor mother would collapse in the street.

All who had arrived were very quiet: they scarcely answered me, when I greeted them. We led mother up into the room, where we had had our first reception.

Mother Fromm and grandmother Fromm were not knitting stockings on this occasion; it seemed they were prepared for this appearance. They too received my parents very quietly and solemnly: as if everyone were convinced that the first word addressed by anyone to this broken-down, propped up figure would immediately reduce it to ashes, as the story goes about some figures they have found in old tombs. And yet she had come on this long, long journey. She had not waited for the weather to grow warmer. She had started in the teeth of a raw, freezing spring wind, when she heard that Lorand was gone.

Oh, is there any plummet to sound the depths of a mother's love?

Poor mother did try so hard to appear strong. It was so evident, that she was struggling to combat with her nervous attacks, just in the very moment which awoke every memory before her mind.

”Quietly, my daughter--quietly,” said grandmother. ”You know what you promised: you promised to be strong. You know there is need of strength.

Don't give yourself over. Sit down.”

Mother sat down near the table where they led her, then let her head fall on her two arms, and, as she had promised not to weep--she did not weep.

It was piteous to see her sorrowful figure as, in this strange house, she was leaning over the table with her face buried in her hands in mute despair; determined, however, not to cry, for so she had promised.

Everyone kept at a distance from her: great sorrow commands great respect. Only one person ventured to remain close to her, one of whom I had not even taken notice as yet,--f.a.n.n.y.

When she had taken off her travelling cloak I found she was dressed entirely in blue. Once that had been my mother's favorite color; father too had been exceedingly fond of it. She stood at mother's side and whispered something into her ear, at which mother raised her head and, like one who returns from the other world, sighed deeply, seemed to come to herself, and said with a peaceful smile, turning to the host and hostess:

”Pardon me, I was exceedingly abstracted.” Merely to hear her speak agonized me greatly. Then she turned to f.a.n.n.y, embraced her, kissed her forehead twice, and said to the Fromms,