Too coarse, too coarse,
mademoiselle!' was all she said, letting the linen, which three
seamstresses were making up into Susanna's underclothing, slip through
her fingers. 'That will last forever, and will rub the child's tender
skin to pieces.'

"Susanna grew somewhat more interested when dress-patterns arrived from
Berlin, by Klaus's order. The small hands turned over the gay little
pieces with real satisfaction; she ran from Anna Maria to Isa, and from
Isa to me, asking whether we preferred satin or moire antique, brocade
or _gros de Tours_. And every evening, punctually at seven o'clock, came
Edwin Stuermer, through autumn darkness, rain, and wind.

"I remember how one day he came into the room and inquired after the
health of the ladies; how, when he was preparing to leave, Anna Maria
said her friendly: 'Will you not stay with us, baron?' And how he then
laid aside hat and riding-whip again, ate supper with us, and then sat
down at the whist-table--all as usual, and yet so different.

"Susanna was a careless and not a clever player; she threw her cards
down at random, never knew what had been played, and had no idea of the
real meaning of the game. Anna Maria took this, like every occupation of
life, seriously, and examined it thoroughly.

"'But, Susanna, do pay attention; you are playing into your opponent's
hand!' she would say during the game; or, 'Please, Susanna, do not look
at Aunt Rosamond's cards; you must not do that!" It had a pedantic sound
when one looked at that smiling, rosy creature, who held the cards in
her little hands with such charming awkwardness, forgot every instant
what was the trump, laughed out from pure pleasure when she took a
trick, and would be so truly disheartened when she lost. 'Oh, _est il
possible_?' she would ask, shaking her head; 'not a trick?'

"Stuermer played this whist with the patience of an angel; he picked up
Susanna's fallen cards unweariedly, smiled when she laughed, and when
Anna Maria scolded an almost imperceptible wrinkle came between his
brows. Occasionally, when he was Anna Maria's partner, she would appear
confused and embarrassed, and he distracted; and once or twice they lost
the rubber, just as they had done before. 'Unlucky at cards, lucky in
love!' said Pastor Gruene, who sat behind Anna Maria's chair on such
evenings. She blushed suddenly, and her hand, which still held the last
card, trembled. Edwin Stuermer, with fine tact, seemed not to hear the
al