"Listen--she'll say it again soon," said Ingeborg eagerly. "What is it, mother?" he asked in German. Frau Dremmel, without moving her head, ran her eyes over the table. "Are there not even--not even--" she began, but stopped. She was evidently combating an emotion. "Thunder of heaven," said Herr Dremmel, looking from one woman to the other, "what is it?" But Frau Dremmel was not able, after the hours of waiting for a supper that seemed to her in every detail a studied insult on her daughter-in-law's part, to bear harshness from her son. Drawing out a handkerchief that had no end and that reached to her eyes while yet remaining in her pocket, she began to cry. Ingeborg was appalled. She ran to her, and, kneeling down, begged her in English to tell her what was the matter. She called her _liebe Schwiegermutter_ over and over again. She stroked her sleeve, she patted her, she even laid her head on her lap. But Frau Dremmel for the first time did not notice her. She was saying detached things into her handkerchief, and they were all for her son. "A widow," wept Frau Dremmel. "A widow for ten years. When I think of your dear father. How much he thought of me. My first visit. My visit on your marriage. Treated as though I were anybody. Forced to drink coffee out of doors. Like a homeless animal. No sofa. No real table. Flocks of mosquitoes. No supper. No supper at all. Nothing prepared for me. For the mother. For your sainted father's wife. His cherished wife long before you were thought of. If it had not been for me you would not have been here at all. Nor she. And I am to go home unfed. Uncared for. Not even the least one has a right to expect given one. Not even what the poorest peasant has each night. Not even"--again she said the magic word--"_Bratkartoffel_--" "There, there," said Ingeborg soothingly, stroking her anxiously--"there, there. Robert, what _is Bratkartoffel_?" "But never mind. Never mind," said Frau Dremmel, wiping her eyes only to weep afresh--"soon I shall be with him. With him again. With your dear father. And this--this is nothing, all nothing. It is only the will of God." "There, there," said Ingeborg, anxiously stroking her. CHAPTER XV It was not until some days later that she discovered the reason for her mother-in-law's tears.