The first violence of grief was over at the parsonage, but its traces were still to be seen in the look of chastened sorrow, the Angel of Death had imprinted on the faces of those who remained, after he had taken their husband and father from them. The Angel had kissed Louisa's forehead as he went and had left her graver, higher thoughts than she had ever had before; he had clasped little Mrs. Behrens in his arms, and after that embrace her old lively impetuosity had died away leaving in its place a calm gentle determination to dedicate her future life to the carrying out of her pastor's wishes. She only lived in her memory of him, everything must remain as he had been used to see it. His arm-chair was placed before his study-table on which his last sermon was lying with the pen beside it, and his old Bible was kept open at the place where his hand had ruffled the leaves when he was dying. The first thing she did every morning was to go to his study with her duster and put everything in good order for the day, and when this was done she would often look round at the door as though she expected him to come in and say: "Thank you, dear Regina," as in the old time. At dinner Louisa always prepared for three people, and the pastor's chair was kept in its old place because her foster-mother liked it to be so, and it seemed to her as if he must needs come in as usual with some cheerful greeting. She took care not to indulge in the luxury of woe, but always tried to make the meal pass as pleasantly as it used to do, and never despised any consoling thought that came to her. This state of things could not go on for ever. Some new clergyman must have the living sooner or later, and then Mrs. Behrens would be obliged to leave the house and even the village, for there was no house for her to go to. She must go away from her husband's grave, for Pomuchelskopp, who alone had power to let her stay, had determined that she should go. She watched the fruit-trees her husband had planted blossom for the last time. She sat under the flowering palm-willow where she had so often sat by his side for the last time. She had seen the spring come and wind his leafy garlands round her old home for the last time. Now summer was showering his golden glory over the world. She said to Louisa one day with a sad smile: "When the swallows take their flight in autumn, Louisa, we shall have to go too." As she spoke she felt the full bitterness of death had come to her.