low stool, and had the child on her lap.
With one hand, she hid her eyes--they were red with weeping; with the
other, she motioned Hansei to step lightly.

Hansei did not observe that there had been, and still was, something
wrong with his mother-in-law. He had taken a seat behind the table, was
thinking of no one but himself, and felt as tired and ill at ease as if
he had just returned from a long and dangerous journey. He was even
obliged to remind himself that, although he was at home, it was no
longer the right sort of a home. The grandmother placed the child in
the cradle and sat down, resting her chin upon her closed hand.
Thoughts far different from Hansei's had passed through her mind. Stasi
had remained with the grandmother for some time after Hansei left the
house. How it would fare with Walpurga, was a topic of but short
duration with them; for what could they say, or know, about that? When
it began to grow dark, Stasi spoke of going, and promised to come again
the next day. The grandmother nodded assent. She preferred being alone,
for then there would be nothing to prevent her thinking of her child.
Her prayers followed Walpurga; but the words flowed forth so easily
that her mind was elsewhere much of the time. Her first thought was:
Walpurga must be saying the same prayer and, although every word
lengthens the distance between us, we are together in spirit,
nevertheless. She felt happy that Walpurga had turned out so well in
all things, and that she could be depended upon. It was hard to be
among strangers; but they were men and women, after all. At times, her
heart would misgive her, lest Walpurga should not be able to hold out
to the end. She has lots of good notions--if she only thinks of them at
the right time. "For my sake, if for nothing else, you'll keep yourself
pure," said she aloud, as she ended her prayer. All at once, she felt
so lonely and forlorn. She had never passed a night without Walpurga,
and, looking up at the stars, she wished it were day again. Hansei
might just as well have remained at home; still, it was a great honor
to be invited by the priest. He'll surely send home a schoppen of wine
to gladden grandmother's heart; and if it be only half a schoppen,
it'll show his good heart. Her tongue seemed as if parched; she
thirsted for the wine, and listened for a long while, in the vain hope
that she might hear the footsteps of the innkeeper's servant, bringing
the bottle under her apron.