"He has written you a very long letter," said Anna pleasantly; the extent to which the nose blowing was being carried made her uneasy. Was there to be crying? "You have a cold, dear Frau von Treumann?" inquired the baroness with solicitude. "_Ach nein--doch nein_," murmured Frau von Treumann, turning the sheets over, and blowing her nose harder than ever. "It will come off," thought Letty, who had slipped in unnoticed, and was eating bread and butter alone at the further end of the table. "Poor thing," thought Anna, "she adores that Karlchen." There was a pause, during which the nose continued to be blown. "His letter is beautiful, but sad--very sad," said Frau von Treumann, shaking her head despondingly. "Poor boy--poor dear boy--he misses his mother, of course. I knew he would, but I did not dream it would be as bad as this. Oh, my dear Miss Estcourt--well, Anna then"--smiling faintly--"I could never describe to you the wrench it was, the terrible, terrible wrench, leaving him who for five years--I am a widow five years--has been my all." "It must have been dreadful," murmured Anna sympathetically. The baroness sat straight and motionless, staring fixedly at Frau von Treumann. "'When shall I see you again, my dearest mamma?' were his last words. And I could give him no hope--no answer." The handkerchief went up to her eyes. "What _is_ she gassing about?" wondered Letty. "I can see him now, fading away on the platform as my train bore me off to an unknown life. An only son--the only son of a widow--is everything, everything to his mother." "He must be," said Anna. There was another silence. Then Frau von Treumann wiped her eyes and took up the letter again. "Now he writes that though I have only been away two days from Rislar, the town he is stationed at, it seems already like years. Poor boy! He is quite desperate--listen to this--poor boy----" And she smiled a little, and read aloud, "'I must see you, _liebste, beste Mama_, from time to time. I had no idea the separation would be like this, or I could never have let you go. Pray beg Miss Estcourt----'" "Aha," thought the baroness. "'--to allow me to visit my mother occasionally. There must be an inn in the village. If not, I could stay at Stralsund, and would in no way intrude on her. But I must see my dearest mother, the being I have watched over and cared for ever since my father's death.' Poor, dear, foolish boy--he is desperate----" And she folded up the letter, shook her head, smiled, and suddenly buried her face in her handkerchief. "Excellent Treumann," thought the unblinking baroness.