ith her the possession
of Herr Lienhard's love? Yet it seemed an insult that Frau Katharina had
no fear that she could menace her happiness. Could the former know that
Kuni would have been content with so little--a tender impulse of his
heart, a kiss, a hasty embrace? That would do the other no injury. In the
circles whence she had been brought no one grudged another such things.
How little, she thought, would have been taken from the wealthy Katharina
by the trifling gift which would have restored to her happiness and
peace. The fact that Lienhard, though he never failed to notice her,
would not understand, and always maintained the same pleasant,
aristocratic reserve of manner, she sometimes attributed to fear,
sometimes to cruelty, sometimes to arrogance; she would not believe that
he saw in her only a person otherwise indifferent to him, whom he wished
to accustom to the mode of life which he and his friends believed to be
the right path, pleasing in the sight of God. Love, feminine vanity, the
need of approval, her own pride--all opposed this view.

When the last snow of winter had melted, and the spring sunshine of April
was unfolding the green leafage and opening bright flowers in the
meadows, the hedges, the woods, and the gardens, she found the new home
which she had entered during the frosts of February, and whose solid
walls excluded every breath of air, more and more unendurable. A gnawing
feeling of homesickness for the free out-of-door life, the wandering from
place to place, the careless, untrammelled people to whom she belonged,
took possession of her. She felt as though everything which surrounded
her was too small, the house, the apartments, her own chamber, nay, her
very clothing. Only the hope of the first token that Lienhard was not so
cold and unconquerable as he seemed, that she would at last constrain him
to pass the barrier which separated them, still detained her.

Then came the day when, to avoid answering his question whether she
needed anything, she had gone into the garden. Before reaching the
children, who were playing among the crocuses and tulips, she had said to
herself that she must leave this house--it was foolish, nay mad, to
continue to cherish the hope which had brought her hither. She would
suffer keenly in tearing it from her heart, but a wild delight seized her
at the thought that this imprisonment would soon be over, that she would
be free once more, entirely her own mistress,