On the Heights. Auerbach Berthold
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would have liked to interrupt her, but everything seemed as if bewitched. Before she could say a word, the aid-de-camp had come. Irma begged him to wait while she added a few lines of her own.
The aid-de-camp had taken his leave. Irma passed her hand over Walpurga's face and said: "Let me banish all your sad thoughts. Be happy and take my word for it--the man is saved. Go to the poor woman and quiet her in the mean while. I'll bring the answer to your room."
Walpurga could not find words, or she would have said something, even then. But the petition had already gone. After all no one would be harmed in the matter, and, although Thomas really was a wicked fellow, this might make a better man of him. Walpurga left Irma's apartment. Stopping at the door, for an instant, to recover herself, she heard Irma singing again. When she reached her room, she was in a calmer state and said to Zenza:
"Your Thomas will get off; depend upon it. But you must give me your word, and promise to keep it, too, that Thomas will become an honest man, and that you won't help him sell his stolen wares and hide his evil ways. You needn't look at me so, for I've a right to talk to you this way. I've risked a great deal for you."
"Yes, indeed; you've a right to say it," replied Zenza, in a half-earnest, half-jesting tone. "You make our whole neighborhood happy. We're all proud of you. On Sunday, before the church, I'll tell them what influence you have here, and they'll all believe me. Your mother was my playfellow, and if my Thomas had got an honest woman like you for his wife, he'd been thrifty, too. He must get himself a good wife. I'll give him no peace till he does."
Zenza was enjoying some good coffee which Mademoiselle Kramer had prepared for her, and the kind-hearted housekeeper filled her cup again and again.
"If I could only give my son some of this! Oh, how he must be suffering out there! But it serves him right; that's his punishment. He's on the lookout now, but not as a poacher. It's quite a different thing, now." Zenza was quite voluble and Mademoiselle Kramer was charmed with the frankness and motherly affection of the old woman.
When Zenza had emptied her cup and eaten nearly all the cake, she said:
"May I take this little bit of sugar with me? It'll always remind me that I've drunk coffee in the king's palace."
Mademoiselle Kramer wrapped a piece of cake in a paper, and said: "Take this to your son."
It seemed as though Zenza would never get done thanking them. She was in great good-humor, and asked permission to see the prince; but Walpurga refused it and well knew why; for, at home, Zenza was regarded as a witch and, even if it were mere superstition, thought Walpurga, who can know what might happen? She had already become so politic that she availed herself, as an excuse, of the doctor's order that no stranger should be allowed near the person of the crown prince.
Zenza now told them how great a commotion Walpurga's sudden departure had created in their neighborhood. Ever since, the people would talk of nothing else. The folks were all late at church on Sunday, because they had stopped before Walpurga's house and stared at it as if there was something new to be seen, and Hansei had been obliged to show his cow to half the congregation, as if there was something strange about it. But the thoughts of all were of Walpurga; and she also said that it was well known that Walpurga's influence had secured Stasi's betrothed his position as ranger. In spite of Walpurga's protestations that she knew nothing of it, Zenza insisted on her story, and praised her the more for her modesty.
The time passed quickly.
Countess Irma, her face radiant with joy, brought the king's letter of pardon.
Zenza would have fallen on her knees to her and kissed her feet, but Irma held her up and said:
"I've something more for you: take this, so that, besides being free, you may be able to get some pleasure."
She gave her a gold piece.
Old Zenza's eyes sparkled, while she said:
"If the gracious princess should ever want any one who'd go through fire and water to serve her, she need only think of Zenza and Thomas."
She would have said much more, but Walpurga said:
"Thomas is waiting for you at the gate; make haste and go to him."
"You see, dear princess, how good she is. She deserves to be happy."
"Walpurga," said Mademoiselle Kramer, "you might give the woman the money for your husband."
"I'll take it for you."
"No, I'll send it. I must wait awhile," said Walpurga hesitating. She could not well explain that she distrusted both Zenza and her son.
"Here," said Irma, handing Zenza the little golden heart which she wore; "take this to Walpurga's child, from me." Then, removing her silk kerchief, she added, "give her this, too."
"Oh, what a lovely neck!" exclaimed Zenza.
Walpurga again reminded her that she had better return to her son.
Irma felt happy to think that she had brought about the pardon. Walpurga was afraid to tell them Zenza was a stranger to her and that she almost hated her; or that Red Thomas was one of the worst men in their neighborhood. She consoled herself with the thought that all would yet be well. Bad men can grow better, or else all talk of repentance would be mere lies and deceit.
In the mean while, Zenza, holding the pardon on high, had hurried out of the palace.
"Is my reckoning settled?" asked Thomas, spitting as far as he could.
"Yes, thank God! See what a mother can do."
"I don't owe you much thanks for that, what did you bring me into the world for? But the best of it all is it's a slap in the face for the great snarling country justice. Now, mother, I'm as thirsty as three bailiff's clerks. Waiting has almost used me up. Have you anything more about you?"
"Of course I have; just look."
She showed him the gold piece, which he most dexterously removed from her hand and into his pocket.
"What else have you got?" said he, when he noticed the little gold heart that she had taken from her pocket at the same time.
"The beautiful princess gave me that and this silk kerchief for Walpurga's child."
"Hansei's child will have enough with the kerchief," said Thomas, appropriating the gold heart, while he good-naturedly allowed his mother to retain the black cord which had been attached to it.
"There, mother; that'll do very well, and now let's take a drink for having waited so long. While I was waiting out here, I saw a splendid rifle at the gunsmith's. You can take it apart and put it in your pocket, and we'll see if the greencoats catch me again."
The first thing young Thomas did was to take the chamois beard and the black cock plume out of his pocket and stick them in his hat again. Then he put on his hat in a defiant manner, and his whole bearing seemed to say: I'd like to see who'd dare touch them.
Just as they were going away, Baum came in from the street. He seemed anxious to avoid them, but Zenza went up to him and thanked him again for the handsome present he had given her when Walpurga had been sent for. She looked at him strangely and Baum, with a side glance, noticed that Thomas's eyes were fixed upon him. He felt a shudder passing like a flash of lightning, from his heart to his head. It actually made his hair stand on end, and obliged him to raise his hat and adjust it differently; but he took a nail-file from his pocket and began trimming his nails, and then said: "You've thanked me already; once is enough."
"Mother! if Jangerl wasn't in America, I'd have sworn that was he."
"You're crazy," replied Zenza.
They went into the town together. Thomas always walking briskly in front. It seemed as if it would not worry him much, were he to lose his mother.
They repaired to an inn, where, without taking time to sit down, he drank off a schoppen of wine. Then, telling his