Part 24 (1/2)

”Really?” said Anna.

”He is so sensible, so reasonable; he is beloved and respected by the whole regiment. I will show you his photograph--_ach_, the trunks are still unstrapped.”

”I'll go and send someone--but not Marie,” said Anna, getting up quickly. She had no desire to see the photograph, and the son's way of looking at things had considerably astonished her. ”It must be nearly supper time. Would you not rather lie down and let me send you something here? Your head must ache after crying so much. You have baptised our new life with tears. I hope it is a good omen.”

”Oh, I will come down. You will do as you promised, will you not, and forbid the Penheim to gossip?”

”I shall tell the princess your wishes.”

”Or, if she must gossip, let her tell the truth at least. If my son had not pressed me to come here I really do not think----”

Anna went slowly and meditatively down the pa.s.sage to Fraulein Kuhrauber's room. For a moment she thought of omitting this last visit altogether; she was afraid lest the Fraulein should be in some unlooked-for and perplexing condition of mind. Discouraged? Oh no; she was surely not discouraged already. How had the word come into her head?

She quickened her steps. When she reached the door she remembered the cup and the sugar-tongs. Perhaps something in the bedroom was already broken, and the Fraulein would be disclosed sitting in the ruins in tears, for she was unexpectedly large, and the contents of her room were frail. But then woe of that sort was as easily a.s.suaged as broken furniture was mended. It was the more complicated grief of Frau von Treumann that she felt unable to soothe. As to that, she preferred not to think about it at present, and barricaded her thoughts against its image with that consoling sentence, _Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner._ It was a sentence she was fond of; but she had not expected that she would need its rea.s.surance so soon.

She opened the door, and the puckers smoothed themselves out of her forehead at once, for here, at last, was peace. There had been no difficulties here with bells, and straps, and Marie. The trunks had been opened and unpacked without a.s.sistance; and when Anna came in the contents were all put away and Fraulein Kuhrauber, washed and combed and in her Sunday blouse, was sitting in an easy chair by the window absorbed in a book. Satisfaction was written broadly on her face; content was expressed by every lazy line of her att.i.tude. When she saw Anna, she got up and made a curtsey and beamed. The beams were instantly reflected in Anna's face, and they beamed at each other.

”Well,” said Anna, who felt perfectly at her ease with this member of her trio, ”are you happy?”

Fraulein Kuhrauber blushed, and beamed more than ever. She was far less shy of Anna than she was of those two terrible _adelige Damen_, her travelling companions; but at no time had she had much conversation.

Hers had been a ruminative existence, for its uncertainty but rarely disturbed her. Had she not an excellent digestion, and a fixed belief that the righteous, of whom she was one, would never be forsaken? And are not these the primary conditions of happiness? Indeed, if everything else is wanting, these two ingredients by themselves are sufficient for the concoction of a very palatable life.

”You have found an interesting book already?” Anna asked, pleased that the literature chosen with such care should have met with instant appreciation. She took it up to see what it was, but put it down again hastily, for it was the cookery book.

”I read much,” observed Fraulein Kuhrauber.

”Yes?” said Anna, a flicker of hope reviving in her heart. Perhaps the cookery book was an accident.

”I know by heart more than a hundred recipes for sweet dishes alone.”

”Really?” said Anna, the flicker expiring.

”So you can have an idea of the number of books I have read.”

”Here are a great many more for you to read.”

”_Ach ja, ach ja_,” said Fraulein Kuhrauber, glancing doubtfully at the shelves; ”but one must not waste too much time over it--there are other things in life. I read only useful books.”

”Well, that is very praiseworthy,” said Anna, smiling. ”If you like cookery books, I must get you some more.”

”How good you are--how very, very good!” said the Fraulein, gazing at the charming figure before her with heartfelt admiration and grat.i.tude.

”This beautiful room--I cannot look at it enough. I cannot believe it is really for me--for me to sleep in and be in whenever I choose. What have I done to deserve all this?”

What had she done, indeed? She had not even been unhappy, although of course she had had every opportunity of being so, sent from place to place, from one indignant _Hausfrau_ to another, ever since she left school. But Anna, persuaded that she had rescued her from depths of unspeakable despair, was overjoyed by this speech. ”Don't talk about deserving,” she said tenderly. ”You have had such a life that if you were to be happy now without stopping once for the next fifty years it would only be just and right.”

Fraulein Kuhrauber's approval of this sentiment was so entire that she seized Anna's hand and kissed it fervently. Anna laughed while this was going on, and her eyes grew brighter. She had not wanted grat.i.tude, but now that it had come it was very encouraging after all, and very warming. She put one arm impulsively round the Fraulein's neck and kissed her, and this was practically the first kiss that lady had ever received, for the perfunctory embraces of reluctantly dutiful aunts can hardly be called by that pretty name.

”Now,” said Anna, with a happy laugh, ”we are going to be friends for ever. Come, let us go down. That was the supper bell.”