reproving look, which the poor man
could not stand; and when Kunigunde now began to weep aloud, and the
mother likewise weeping folded her in her arms to comfort her, he was
so much moved, that he could no longer restrain his repentant tears: he
also threw himself on his wife's bosom, sobbing, and begging
forgiveness. "Be all composed," said the Baron in a solemnly
consolatory tone, as he raised his eyes to heaven: "the Lord will set
every thing right, for this evening, as you have told me, that obdurate
and yet dear heart pledges itself to me; through my weak co-operation
the Spirit will then enlighten her, and we shall all be one heart and
one love."

* * * * *

Dorothea had shut herself up in her chamber in tears. So distracted, so
dissatisfied with herself and the world, so utterly lost and wretched,
she had never yet felt herself before. She was deeply ashamed that the
simple method of relieving the poor, which seemed to her the most
natural, had been suddenly divulged by the simplicity of the servant;
but still she thought it too hard, to be treated as she had been for it
by her own mother, before all the company, and what pained her more
than all was, that it was done in the presence of the man, whom she
could not but respect, who had won her confidence, and whose esteem she
likewise desired to obtain.

It had grown dark without her perceiving it, when a servant tapped at
her door, and requested her to come down to her mother and the company.
"Mother!" said she to herself, "Mother! what a sweet word! Why have I
never known one?"

She went down, the family were assembled in the parlour; the young
officer was also present. As Dorothea entered, it occurred to her for
the first time, why she had been summoned. A shivering fit came over
her. All saluted her as the Baron's betrothed, the mother said kindly,
she would now forgive her that day's behaviour; the sisters wished the
dejected girl joy, and the Baron covered her trembling hand with tender
kisses. "Be calm, be happy," said he in a soft tone; "henceforth, my
love, you will quite belong to us, and this man shall never more enter
our house; you were certainly right, and it was heaven that spoke in
you, that such a wretch ought not to move where we set our steps."

"A wretch?" cried Dorothea, and tore her hand so violently away, that
the Baron staggered back. "You are an audacious man, to dare so to
vilify such a person."