"It looks pleasant, doesn't it, Gertrude?" said the young wife. "I have not opened the great drawing-room because there will be only a few ladies. The wife of the Home Minister has accepted. Are you coming in for an hour?"
"No, thanks," replied the young girl, mounting the stairs with her sister to her mother's apartment. "Send me the baby for awhile, I like so much to have him."
"Oh, yes, the young gentleman shall make his appearance," nodded Mrs. Jenny, "provided he doesn't sleep like a little dormouse."
"Do you go in to mamma," said Gertrude. "I will change my dress and then come."
The rooms were the same as in the lower story, also richly furnished, though not in the new "aesthetic" style, yet they were not less elegant and comfortable. The sisters separated in the ante-room, and Gertrude Baumhagen went to her own room. She occupied the room with the bow-window, but here the daylight was not broken by costly stained glass: it came in, unhindered, in floods through the clear panes, before which outside, numberless flowers waved in the soft breeze. Directly opposite were the gables of the Rathhaus; like airy lace-work, the rich ornamentation of the towers was marked out against the glowing evening sky.
This bow-window was a delightful place; here stood her work-table, and behind it on an easel, the portrait of the late Mr. Baumhagen. The resemblance between the father and daughter was visible at a glance; there was the same light brown hair, the intellectual brow, the small, fine nose, and the eyes too were the same. She had always been his darling, and it was her care that fresh flowers should always be placed in the gold network of the frame. And where she sat at work her hands would sometimes rest in her lap and her eyes would turn to the picture. "My dear, good papa!" she would whisper then, as if he must understand.
To-day also, she walked quickly towards the bow-window and looked long at the picture. "You would have done that too," she said, softly, "wouldn't you, papa!" An earnest expression came suddenly into the young eyes, something like inexpressible longing. "No, every one is not like mamma and Jenny; there are warm human hearts, there are hearts that feel compassion for a stranger's needs, for whom the detested--" she stopped suddenly her small hands had clenched themselves and her eyes filled with tears.