The Staatsräthin, like all impulsive but really fine-tempered people, was easily appeased and touched. She hastened to her and threw her arms around her. "My dear child! Can you not forgive the hasty words of an anxious mother? Indeed I was unjust. You are more sinned against than sinning. I thought only of my son, and--" "There was no need to stab me to the heart for his sake. I never dreamed of becoming the wife of your son,--he is far too hostile to my views, much as I esteem him. I wished for nothing but the happiness of calling one human being in the world friend. But I can go without that too. I will prove it to you. Farewell!" And she hurried out, followed by the Staatsräthin, who could not prevent her from gathering together the few things she had brought with her and leaving the house. The mother looked after her with anxious forebodings. "What will Johannes say? How he will blame his mother!" she lamented,--but she soon collected herself, and said calmly and firmly, "In God's name, then, I will bear it. It is better thus!" PART III. CHAPTER I. THE STRENGTH OF WEAKNESS. On the morning of the day that drove Ernestine from her peaceful but brief refuge, Herr Leonhardt slept unusually late. His wife, who did not wish to waken him, looked anxiously at the old cuckoo clock, that pointed to half past six. It was very natural that the old man should be tired, after the trying occurrences of the previous day. Frau Brigitta had never seen him so agitated. He had shed bitter tears upon his return home,--tears from those poor eyes! Every drop had fallen scalding hot upon his faithful wife's heart. Those amongst whom he had lived for half a century as a steadfast, self-sacrificing friend and teacher, had taken up stones to stone him,--had forgotten all that they owed him,--it broke the heart of the weary old man. Frau Leonhardt sat upon the bench by the stove. She folded her kind, fat hands, and wondered how any one could grieve the man who was to her the very ideal of honour and worth! The door in the clock opened, and out hopped the cuckoo, flapped his wings, called "cuckoo" seven times, and then disappeared, slamming the door behind him as if he were greatly irritated at finding nothing astir as yet. Frau Leonhardt arose,--the old man must be called now, for the children came to school at eight. She ascended the ladder-like staircase to their upper story, which was under the roof of the cottage, and softly entered the bedroom. Herr Leonhardt lay with his face turned to the wall. "Are you asleep?" asked Frau Leonhardt. "What is it? what is the matter?" cried her husband alarmed. "Is it really on fire?" "Why, you are dreaming,--it is time to get up,--the children will be here!" "But, my dear wife, it is still night. What are you doing up so early?"