Part 41 (1/2)

”Mother, the lady wishes to see our rooms.”

The woman curtsied. ”Pray be seated,” she said, with a motion towards the old sofa.

Johanna's eyes followed her gesture, and with an exclamation of surprise she approached. She was not mistaken; upon the wall above the sofa hung a photograph of her foster-brother.

”Do you know Dr. Werner?” the woman asked, and her sad eyes brightened.

”He is my foster-brother,” Johanna replied.

”He was my son's best friend,” the other said, and her eyes filled with tears. ”My poor Paul died in his arms. That is his picture beside Dr.

Werner's.”

Johanna recollected now that Ludwig had come to Donninghausen on New Year's eve, two years before, from the death-bed of a friend in Hanover.

She soon informed the little circle of this, and that she could tell them of Ludwig.

”What a pity that our father and the little ones are not here!” the blonde sisters said almost together. ”But church must soon be over. How glad they will be!”

Johanna at last referred to the business that had brought her here, saying that she wished for lodgings for herself and a little sister, who, after a severe illness, was unable to travel, and that she should need the rooms until the return of the child's mother and step-father from Russia.

The mother and daughters all conducted her across the bright landing to a room with an adjoining bedroom. Here also the walls were only whitewashed. The ceiling was low, and the furniture was old and simple, but everything shone with neatness. The windows looked out upon a little garden, whence the fragrance of flowers floated aloft, and a quiet reigned around that was not all Sabbath stillness.

”You must see the garden!” one of the sisters exclaimed. ”There is nothing like it in all Hanover.”

”But, Jetta, after your description the Fraulein will be disappointed,”

said the mother. And, turning to Johanna, she explained: ”Our house is part of the remains of an ancient monastery; in the lower story there are still the old vaulted store-rooms. Our neighbour, the florist, has rented them for coal-cellars, and what Jetta calls our garden is only a little terrace which my father-in-law, who was very fond of flowers, laid out upon a continuation of these vaults. He used to grow the rarest tulips and carnations here. We cannot, indeed, do that.”

They stepped out into it. The terrace was closed in by a latticed fence covered with clematis. In front there was an extended view of fields and meadows, hedge-rows, a little stream bordered by willows, small stretches of woodland, and a couple of villages. On the right it was shaded by the aged lindens in the neighbour's garden, which must also have dated from the palmy days of the monastery. In the centre there was a large bed, which had probably once contained the father-in-law's floral treasures, but which was now devoted to salad and herbs, surrounded, however, by a thick border of lavender in full bloom. On the right there was a perfect thicket of syringas, lilacs, jessamine, and hawthorn, in which the finches were singing merrily.

”It is very pleasant here,” said Johanna, after a hasty glance around.

”If you will take me and my little sister----”

”We shall be so glad!” cried the girls.

Johanna rea.s.sured the mother, who feared lest the Fraulein would find it too quiet here, and their manner of life too plain, by telling her that she was searching for a quiet place in which she might work undisturbed; and the daughters promised to do everything to make their home pleasant for Dr. Werner's sister.

In the midst of these a.s.surances there was heard a talking, laughing, and barking on the stairs, as if from part of the 'Wild Huntsman's'

retinue. But it was only the three 'little ones,' st.u.r.dy, blue-eyed, fair-haired little girls, who had just come from church, and who now rushed out upon the terrace with their four-footed pets. After them came their father, a tall, spare man, with thin gray hair, and a pair of shy, blue, child-like eyes.

”Come, father, come!” cried Jetta, evidently the spokeswoman of the family. ”This is Dr. Werner's foster-sister, and she is going to rent our rooms, and to come with her little sister to live with us.”

”Werner's foster-sister!” he repeated, offering Johanna his hand. ”You are indeed welcome. I was afraid that your brother had forgotten us, but his sending you to us proves I was wrong.”

Johanna hastened to correct his mistake. The idea of being received under false pretences could not be entertained by her for a moment.

After she had informed the old man with regard to Ludwig's travels, she told him as much of her own affairs as was fitting, rather doubtful in her mind as to whether he would welcome beneath his roof the child of an actor.

But the master of the house declared that he should esteem himself happy in receiving her as a lodger. He had seen the great artist in one of his most brilliant parts, and his face brightened yet at the remembrance.

The pecuniary arrangements were soon completed, and when Johanna took her leave of the family, all looked forward with pleasure to meeting again.