d this in a humble manner, Annele suddenly stood up
in the carriage.
"What is it? what is the matter?" asked Lenz.
"Nothing, nothing at all; I don't know why I stood up. I mean I am not
comfortably seated; now I am more at ease. It is very agreeable to
drive in our carriage, is it not?"
"Yes, very; it is as easy as an armchair, and yet you can see round you
in all directions. It is so pleasant to drive, and it is the first time
I ever was in a carriage of my own; for your father's seems mine also."
"Certainly."
The first excursion of the betrothed couple had not been quite so
amusing as they had expected, but still both brought home with them
much that was pleasant. Annele said very little, and it was evident
that something unusual was occupying her mind.
It was still bright daylight when they arrived at home. Lenz assisted
Annele out of the carriage, and let her go in first by herself. He then
took out the parcel he had so carefully wrapped up, and when he was in
the house he called Annele into the back parlour.
There the mystery was unravelled by these words:--"Annele, I here
present you with the nearest and dearest object I possess on earth; my
excellent friend Pilgrim gave it to me, and now it shall be yours."
Annele gazed intently at the portrait, for which Lenz had secretly
ordered a frame in the town.
"Ah! I see you cannot speak, because my mother is looking at you!"
"So that is your mother? It is certainly her gown, and her cap and
handkerchief, but as for your mother herself? No, it might just as well
be old Annelise the carpenter's wife, or Faller's wife; indeed, I think
it is very like the latter. What makes you look so pale all of a
sudden? as if every drop of blood had left your cheeks? My good Lenz,
would you have me tell an untruth? I am sure you would not; and how can
you help it? Pilgrim never could do a thing well in his life. He has no
talent for anything, except for painting his everlasting church
towers."
"When I heard you speak, I felt as if my mother had died a second
time," said Lenz.
"Don't be so melancholy all of a sudden," said Annele more graciously.
"I will show all respect for the portrait, and hang it up over my bed.
Come, you are no longer sad? You have been so loveable to-day, and
really now, when I look again at the picture, I think it does remind me
of your mother."
Just as Lenz first became as hot as fire, and then as cold as ice, so
could Annele influenc
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