Paul Schlieben had some difficulty in making the vestryman
understand him. It was not because the man was a Walloon who hardly
understood German, for Nikolas Rocherath of "Good Hope"--his house
having received that name because it could be seen a good distance off
in the Venn, it being the largest in the village--was a German, but
because he could not understand what the gentleman meant.

What did he want with Lisa Solheid's Jean-Pierre? Adopt him? He
looked quite puzzled at first, and then he got offended. No, even if he
was nothing but a simple peasant, he would not let the gentleman make a
fool of him.

It was only by degrees that Schlieben could convince him that his
intentions were serious. But the old man still continued to rub his
stubbly chin doubtfully and cast suspicious glances at the lady and
gentleman, who had broken in on his solitude so unexpectedly. It was
only when Kate, wearied and tortured by the long explanation,
seized hold of his arm impatiently, and looking into his face cried
impetuously, almost angrily, "For goodness' sake do understand. We have
no child, but we want a child--now do you understand it?"--that he
understood.

No child--oh dear! No child! Then people do not know what they are
living for. Now he nodded comprehendingly, and, casting a compassionate
look at the lady who was so rich, so finely dressed and still had no
children, he became much more approachable. So they were so pleased
with Lisa Solheid's Jean-Pierre that they wanted to take him to Berlin
with them? How lucky the boy was. Lisa would not be able to believe it.
But nobody would begrudge her it. Nobody in Longfaye was as poor as
she; many a day she did not know how to get sufficient food for herself
and her five. Formerly, whilst her husband was alive----

What, her husband was not alive? She was a widow? Paul Schlieben
interrupted the vestryman, and drew a long breath as though of relief.
Although he had never spoken of it, he had always had a secret fear of
the father: if he turned out to be a drunkard or a ne'er-do-well? A
load fell from his mind now--he was dead, he could not do any more
harm. Or had he died of an illness after all, of a wasting disease that
is handed down to children and children's children? He had been told
that the mists on the Venn and the sudden changes in the temperature
may easily be injurious to the lungs and throat--added to that hard
work and bad food--surely the young man had not died of