wine, she at once protested that she never would
take upon herself that duty. "I am not his of right," she had said;
and as she said it, she resolved that she would adhere to that
protest. But when she was alone she remembered her aunt's demand, her
own submissiveness, her old habits of obedience, and above all she
remembered the fear that would come over her that she was giving
herself to the devil in casting from her her obedience on such a
subject, and then she became very wretched. She told herself that
sooner or later her aunt would conquer her, that sooner or later that
mean-faced old man, with his snuffy fingers, and his few straggling
hairs brushed over his bald pate, with his big shoes spreading here
and there because of his corns, and his ugly, loose, square, snuffy
coat, and his old hat which he had worn so long that she never liked
to touch it, would become her husband, and that it would be her
duty to look after his wine, and his old shoes, and his old hat,
and to have her own little possessions doled out to her by his
penuriousness. Though she continued to swear to herself that heaven
and earth together should never make her become Herr Steinmarc's
wife, yet at the same time she continued to bemoan the certainty of
her coming fate. If they were both against her--both, with the Lord
on their sides--how could she stand against them with nothing to aid
her,--nothing, but the devil, and a few words spoken to her by one
whom hitherto she had never dared to answer?

The house in which Linda and Madame Staubach lived, of which the
three gables faced towards the river, and which came so close upon
the stream that there was but a margin six feet broad between the
wall and the edge of the water, was approached by a narrow street
or passage, which reached as far as the end of the house, where
there was a small gravelled court or open place, perhaps thirty feet
square. Opposite to the door of the red house was the door of that
in which lived Fanny Heisse with her father and mother. They indeed
had another opening into one of the streets of the town, which was
necessary, as Jacob Heisse was an upholsterer, and required an
exit from his premises for chairs and tables. But to the red house
with the three gables there was no other approach than by the
narrow passage which ran between the river and the back of Heisse's
workshop. Thus the little courtyard was very private, and Linda could
stand leaning on the wicket-gate