ble in the sitting-room this evening, and Anna Maria
would hardly be in the mood to read aloud the evening prayers as usual.
And Klaus? No, I would not see him at all; better to-morrow by daylight,
when he would be his old self again, when his voice would have lost its
sultry summer-night cadence, it was to be hoped. No more to-day, I had
had enough. I should not be able to sleep, as it was.

"And so I went, like a ghost, up the moonlit steps, and stole along the
corridor to Susanna's door, and knocked softly. No answer. I lifted the
latch and went in. The room was lighted only by the moon, and the heavy
odor of flowers came toward me; a pale ray shone just over the white
pillows of the bed and fell on Susanna's face. She was fast asleep; her
neck and arms glistened like marble. Should I wake her? She would surely
stifle in this air. I stole past her, opened a window, and set the
bunches of flowers out on the balcony. The room looked topsy-turvy, but
on the sofa was spread out with evident care the toilet for
to-morrow--the white dress, little shoes and stockings, even hat and
hymn-book for church.

"I closed the window again softly and stole out of the girl's room. Let
her sleep; in this enchanted moonlight it would be impossible to say
anything reasonable, I thought. Indeed, I reproached myself afterward
for not having waked her from her dreams, in order to have brought all
my old maid's prose to bear against all this flower-scented poetry. But
what would it have availed? For God Almighty holds in his hands the
threads of human destiny. It had to be thus."

CHAPTER VIII.

"The next morning broke as prosaic and calm as I could desire. The sun
shone with obtrusive clearness into the most remote corner, and
mercilessly set out everything in a dazzling light. From below,
out-of-doors, I heard the sound of Anna Maria's voice, and caught
something about 'string-beans for the servants' kitchen.' Klaus whistled
out of the window, and immediately after I heard a dialogue concerning
Waldemann (the _Teckel_), who was just limping across the court, having
jammed his foot in the stable-door, according to the coachman's account.
Klaus's voice, thank God, had not a suspicion of that weak intonation of
last evening. Relieved, and smiling at my fears of yesterday, I got
ready for church. If we can only get well over the first meeting with
Stuermer, it may be quite a pleasant Sunday, I reasoned; I was wishing
some visitor w