'I am not quite contemptible as a lady-artist,' I heard her say to Mr. Engelman; 'and I should so like to make some little studies of these beautiful old rooms—as memorials to take with me when I am far away from Frankfort. But I don't ask it, dear Mr. Engelman. You don't want enthusiastic ladies with sketch-books in this bachelor paradise of yours. I hope we are not intruding on Mr. Keller. Is he at home?'
'No,' said Mr. Engelman; 'he has gone out.'
Madame Fontaine's flow of eloquence suddenly ran dry. She was silent as we ascended from the first floor to the second. In this part of the house our bedrooms were situated. The chamber in which I slept presented nothing particularly worthy of notice. But the rooms occupied by Mr. Keller and Mr. Engelman contained some of the finest carved woodwork in the house.
It was beginning to get dark. Mr. Engelman lit the candles in his own room. The widow took one of them from him, and threw the light skillfully on the different objects about her. She was still a little subdued; but she showed her knowledge of wood-carving by picking out the two finest specimens in the room—a wardrobe and a toilet- table.
'My poor husband was fond of old carving,' she explained modestly; 'what I know about it, I know from him. Dear Mr. Engelman, your room is a picture in itself. What glorious colors! How simple and how grand! Might we——' she paused, with a becoming appearance of confusion. Her voice dropped softly to lower tones. 'Might we be pardoned, do you think, if we ventured to peep into Mr. Keller's room?'
She spoke of 'Mr. Keller's room' as if it had been a shrine, approachable only by a few favored worshippers. 'Where is it?' she inquired, with breathless interest. I led the way out into the passage, and threw open the door without ceremony. Madame Fontaine looked at me as if I had committed an act of sacrilege.
Mr. Engelman, following us with one of his candles, lit an ancient brass lamp which hung from the middle of the ceiling. 'My learned partner,' he explained, 'does a great deal of his reading in his bedroom, and he likes plenty of light. You will have a good view when the lamp has burnt up. The big chimney-piece is considered the finest thing of that sort in Frankfort.'
The widow confronted the chimney-piece, and clasped her hands in silent rapture. When she was able to speak, she put her arm round Minna's waist.
'Let me teach you, my love, to admire this glorious work,' she said, and delivered quite a little lecture on the merits of the chimney-piece. 'Oh, if I could but take the merest sketch of it!' she exclaimed, by way of conclusion. 'But no, it is too much to ask.' She examined everything in the room with the minutest attention. Even the plain little table by the bed-side, with a jug and a glass on it, did not escape her observation. 'Is that his drink?' she asked, with an air of respectful curiosity. 'Do you think I might taste it?'
Mr. Engelman laughed. 'It's only barley-water, dear lady,' he said. 'Our rheumatic old housekeeper makes as few journeys as possible up and down stairs. When she sets the room in order in the evening, she takes the night- drink up with her, and so saves a second journey.'
'Taste it, Minna,' said the widow, handing the glass to her daughter. 'How refreshing! how pure!'
Mr. Engelman, standing on the other side of her, whispered in her ear. I was just behind them, and could not help hearing him. 'You will make me jealous,' he said; 'you never noticed
The widow answered him by a look; he heaved a little sigh of happiness. Poor Mr. Engelman!
Minna innocently broke in on this mute scene of sentiment.
She was looking at the pictures in the room, and asked for explanations of them which Mr. Engelman only could afford. It struck me as odd that her mother's artistic sympathies did not appear to be excited by the pictures. Instead of joining her daughter at the other end of the room, she stood by the bedside with her hand resting on the little table, and her eyes fixed on the jug of barley-water, absorbed in thought. On a sudden, she started, turned quickly, and caught me observing her. I might have been deceived by the lamp-light; but I thought I saw a flash of expression under her heavy eyelids, charged with such intensity of angry suspicion that it startled me. She was herself again, before I could decide whether to trust my own strong impression or not.
'Do I surprise you, David?' she asked in her gentlest tones. 'I ought to be looking at the pictures, you think? My friend! I can't always control my own sad recollections. They will force themselves on me—sometimes when the most trifling associations call them up. Dear Mr. Engelman understands me. He, no doubt, has suffered too. May I sit down for a moment?'
She dropped languidly into a chair, and sat looking at the famous chimney-piece. Her attitude was the perfection of grace. Mr. Engelman hurried through his explanation of the pictures, and placed himself at her side, and admired the chimney-piece with her.
'Artists think it looks best by lamplight,' he said. 'The big pediment between the windows keeps out the light in the daytime.'
Madame Fontaine looked round at him with a softly approving smile. 'Exactly what I was thinking myself, when you spoke,' she said. 'The effect by this light is simply perfect. Why didn't I bring my sketch-book with me? I might have stolen some little memorial of it, in Mr. Keller's absence.' She turned towards me when she said that.
'If you can do without colors,' I suggested, 'we have paper and pencils in the house.'
The clock in the corridor struck the hour.
Mr. Engelman looked uneasy, and got up from his chair. His action suggested that the time had passed by us unperceived, and that Mr. Keller's return might take place at any moment. The same impression was evidently produced on Minna. For once in her life, the widow's quick perception seemed to have deserted her. She kept her seat as composedly as if she had been at home.
'I wonder whether I could manage without my colors?' she said placidly. 'Perhaps I might try.'
Mr. Engelman's uneasiness increased to downright alarm. Minna perceived the change, as I did, and at once interfered.
'I am afraid, mamma, it is too late for sketching to-night,' she said. 'Suppose Mr. Keller should come back?'
Madame Fontaine rose instantly, with a look of confusion. 'How very stupid of me not to think of it!' she
