, and talks, and mingles with the crowd, and that one is the
corpse of the old man in the water.

CHAPTER XLII.

Besides all friendly house-sprites and household divinities, there is
one other in the secret, and silently triumphant at Anton's return, and
that is the cousin.

Strangers indeed may shake their heads at much that passes, but she
knows better: that Anton should sit all day long pale and silent in the
office; Sabine evince a tendency to blush in her brother's presence,
which never appeared before; sit silent for hours over her work, then
silently start up and rush through the house, playful as a kitten after
a ball of twine; the merchant himself keep constantly looking at Anton,
and growing more and more merry from day to day, so that at last he
positively rallies the cousin without ceasing--all this, indeed, may
seem perplexing, but it was not so to one who had known for years what
each of them liked for dinner (although she only ventured to present the
favorite dish in order, once a month), who had with their own hands
knitted their stockings and starched their collars. She accounted for
all their inconsistencies most naturally.

The good lady took all the credit of Anton's return entirely to herself.
She had determined to restore her favorite to the office, and she had
had no ulterior intention, at least so she declared; for, in spite of
the rose-lined coverlet and the embroidered curtains, she knew that the
house to which she belonged was a proud house, which had ways of its
own, and required very skillful management. And, indeed, when told that
Anton was only to be a guest, she was herself in some uncertainty. But
soon she got the upper hand of the merchant and his sister, for she made
discoveries.

The second story of the house had been uninhabited for years. The
merchant and his young wife had occupied it in the lifetime of his
parents. When he had lost one after another, parents, wife, and baby
son, he moved to the first floor, and since then had seldom gone up
stairs. Gray blinds hung down there the whole year through; the
furniture and paintings were all covered up; in short, the whole story
was like an enchanted castle, and even the ladies' footsteps fell softer
when they were obliged to pass through the silent region.

The cousin was coming up stairs one day. In spite of her endless war
with Pix, she had contrived to keep one small room to dry linen in. She
was just musing upon the