"Toward evening I was awakened from a light slumber by the ringing of bells again; again I heard doors shutting, and footsteps of people hurrying to and fro. At the first instant I thought of an accident, but then recollected that it had been just so in the afternoon, and made my toilet and went down.
"The first person to step up to me was Mademoiselle Isa. She greeted me very warmly, and with a certain pretentiousness. 'The gracious Frau had drunk a cup of chocolate and was quite well,' she added, as she opened the door of the former sitting-room, which was agreeably lighted by two lamps, and pointed to the drawn-back portière: 'The gracious Frau is in her boudoir.'
"Indeed, I was curious to see Susanna again as 'gracious Frau,' and limped quickly across to the little room. The soft carpet had deadened the sound of my steps, and I entered the snug little room unperceived. Susanna was resting on the divan; I saw her beautiful black curls falling over the blue cushions, a tiny lace cap was half-hidden among them. Her face was turned toward the fire, which, notwithstanding the warm April evening, was burning brightly in the little fire-place.
"'Susanna!' I called softly. She started up, and with a cry of joy fell on my neck. 'Aunt Rosamond, dear aunt!' she cried, and kissed and patted me with the pleasure of a happy child. 'My good Aunt Rosamond!' And she seized my hands and drew me, without letting go, to the sofa. She exercised the same old charm upon me; I had never been able to be angry with her; her grace was irresistible, and took heart and mind prisoner.
"I raised the round chin a little and looked at her. It was the old, sweet, childish face, only still more attractive by reason of a slight pallor and a strange, sad look about the mouth; the eyes had lost the questioning look which sometimes gave them such a peculiar expression, but I thought they had grown larger and more brilliant. She threw her arms about my neck again, and kissed me and laughed, and then came a tear or two, and then she laughed again.
"She chattered about Nice, about Paris, and said she wanted to live here quietly only a little while, and then fell on my neck again and whispered a thanks.
"'No, no!' said I, smiling, 'I am not guilty of that; your thanks belong to Anna Maria.'