d;
how little Annie in the bed beside her own, suddenly cried out in a
strange voice and then could not speak any more; how she jumped up and
dressed; how she waked Valentine in her distress, and he, without her
knowledge, waked Apollonius. The old fellow had tried all the keys in
the house until he found that the key of the shed opened the back
door; she did not know that. So much the more vividly did she picture
how Apollonius came in, how she felt at his unexpected appearance,
full of terror and shame and yet wonderfully tranquillized. Apollonius
had fetched the doctor at once and medicines. He had stood by the bed
and bent over little Annie as she did now. He had looked at her full
of pain and said that little Annie's illness was owing to the discord
between herself and her husband, and that she would not get well
unless this ceased. He had told her of the miracles that are possible
to a mother and of how men and women can and must conquer themselves.
Then he had given Valentine a few more orders relating to little Annie
and had left, fearing that his brother, in his error, might otherwise
believe that he wanted to drive him away from the sick-bed of his
children. Apollonius had said that little Annie would not get well
again if the discord did not cease. He had said that people can and
must conquer themselves; Christiane determined to conquer herself
because he had said so. A mother could do miracles for her child; if
she thought of Apollonius' face when he spoke thus, the greatest
miracle must become possible to her.

Fritz Nettenmair entered. He thought of nothing but that Apollonius
must have been there, even if he were not there any longer. Everything
danced before his eyes he was in such a fury. He would have flown at
his wife if he had not seen old Valentine sitting at the door of the
bedroom. He meant to wait till the old man had left the room, and
crept to the chair at the window where he had always sat formerly,
when he was such a different man. His wife heard his soft tread; she
could not see his face. It seemed to her that he knew of little
Annie's condition and walked so softly on that account. She looked at
little Annie with a glance that said, that what she was about to do
now she would do for the sake of her sick child; a glance at the door
by which he had gone out added: "And because he said I should."

"Here is father, Annie," she said. In reality she was talking to her
husband who sat at the win