ah
re-entered. "Reinhold might manage them, but he only laughs instead of
helping me. And I, with the best intentions--but sit down, dearest, and
let's talk to each other a little while. You can't imagine how much
trouble it costs me to get a half hour to myself. How often I envy you
your quiet house, and you have the whole day to read and write and
think. I, with our great household, and the care of all the workmen, to
whom I fill a mother's place--isn't it comical," she laughed, fastening
her cap straight again, "to look at me and think what I used to be, and
what I am now. It would be a sin to complain, but I'm sorry for one
thing--that there's no chance of my husband's teaching me anything, as
I am always begging him to do. But in the evening, when I have him an
hour to myself and might read and learn something, my eyes close, and
the finest poem or novel is not half as delightful as my bed. When I
complain of this to Reinhold, he laughs at me. He thinks I'm well
educated enough; he's still so much in love, that he doesn't see my
deficiencies. But when I get to be an old woman and sit with my old
husband, and can scarcely understand half the things he's thinking and
writing--well, it will be his own fault, so he can't complain. I only
speak of it, because it always gives me a pang when you find me so
among the children--and I can't divide any of the blessing with you.
But you see every joy has its thorns, even that which seems most
enviable. You, as a compensation, live alone with your husband, and he
tells you everything he thinks, and you two are so completely one all
day long that you needn't desire anything else. Ain't I right,
dearest?"

She had nestled close to her silent friend, who listened with a
peculiar, almost triumphant smile. "You're a little hypocrite," she now
said, taking Reginchen's face between her hands and pressing a hasty
kiss upon her brow. "You know very well, how I feel beside you--and
because you've a kind heart and love me, want to make me believe you'd
sell your three children for the title of Doctor, you wicked mother.
But just because you were only acting, and I, with all my culture, am
not so skillful in hypocrisy as you--you cunning child of nature--come,
let me whisper something in your ear, that no one has yet heard--not
even he who has the best right to hear it--and you must also promise me
that not a soul shall know it, not even he from whom you usually have
no secrets. Your hand