In spite of having the best of husbands whom she loved as much as he loved her, she yet did not possess that peace for which she longed; in spite of all their love, his easy-going temperament was no longer in harmony with her melancholy, as recent arguments had proved to her more than once to an ever-increasing degree and even though she would strive with all her might to resist her tendency to disagree. Hence Petersen’s well-meant words found no response amongst the others, indeed they all stared silently in front of them and only Arne dared to look down the table through the high French-windows out over the sea, shimmering and silvery beneath the moon.

At this moment full of uneasiness and oppression, Asta suddenly came out of the next room and whispered to her mother: “Elizabeth wants to sing something. May she?”

“Certainly she may. But who is going to accompany her?”

“I shall. It’s very easy and we have just been through it. I think it will be all right. And even if I break down, it won’t be a disaster.”

She went back to the grand piano, leaving the big dividing doors open. The music was already open on the piano, the lights were on, and they both began. But what they had feared happened: voice and accompaniment failed to keep pace and they both burst out laughing, half embarrassed. However, they started again at once and Elizabeth’s high, clear voice, still almost that of a child, rang through the two rooms. Everyone listened in silence. The countess seemed particularly moved and at the end of the last verse, she rose from her chair and went over to the piano. Then, picking up the song still lying open on the music-rest, without saying a word to anyone, she left the room. This did not cause undue surprise, since everyone knew how sensitive she was. Holk merely asked Elizabeth who had written the words.

“Waiblinger, whom I had never heard of till now.”

“Nor me,” said Holk. “And the title?”

“‘The churchyard.’”

“That must be why.”

A quarter of an hour later, the Arnewieck carriage arrived and Arne insisted on Petersen’s accompanying him as far as the vicarage; Schnuck would be able to keep up alongside. After some discussion, the offer was accepted and Arne took the back seat while Elizabeth, who was fond of chatting with the coachman, climbed up on the box. Barely was she ensconced than she found herself being told at length about his sick wife and the “sympathy” which had proved once again to be more help than the doctor who always merely prescribed things without looking properly to see what was wrong and particularly without discovering whether her spleen was in order. For the trouble definitely lay in the spleen.

This conversation was short-lived, for in less than ten minutes they pulled up in front of the vicarage. Schnuck vigorously voiced his delight at being home again and Arne moved over to sit beside Schwarzkoppen. Then, after a further exchange of greetings and thanks, they both drove on towards Arnewieck.

[1]A tribe of the Suevi who penetrated as far west as Portugal.

5

Their way lay between high quickset hedges with the sea close by on the left; but it could only be heard since a low line of dunes obscured it from view. Arne and Schwarzkoppen had both wrapped their feet in plaids and rugs for, after the lovely warm day, it had become cool and autumnal, cooler than usual for September. This only increased the liveliness of their conversation which, naturally enough, concerned the evening they had just spent together.

“That Petersen girl has a charming voice,” said Arne. “All the same, I wish she had sung some Weber rather than that gloomy song.”

“It was a very lovely song.”

“Certainly it was and we two can both listen to it without coming to any harm. But not my sister! You must have seen how she took the music and left the room. I feel sure that she immediately learned it by heart or cut it out and stuck it in an album. You know, although she is thirty-seven years old, she is still in many ways the little schoolgirl from Gnadenfrei, particularly now that she has Fräulein Dobschütz living with her. Of course, Fräulein Dobschütz is an excellent person and I have all possible respect for her character and her learning. But the fact remains that, as far as my poor brother-in-law is concerned, she is a mistake. You’re surprised but it’s true.