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and pretty. He had been very dear and sweet, the little angel,
and it was very hard....
Mrs. Schlessinger had lost her husband too, and many of
the young ladies who had stayed in her house had seen their
little ones die; some of them had been pleased, others had put
their babies out to nurse at once so as to get rid of them. It
was not nice, of course, but what could one do? Some had
cried and wailed as Jenny did, but they got over it in time, and
married and settled down happily afterwards. But a despair
like Fräulein’s she had never yet witnessed.
Mrs. Schlessinger suspected in her heart that her patient’s
despair was caused to a great extent by the departure of the
cousin first to Dresden and then to Italy just about the time
the boy died. But that is exactly what they always did — the
men.
The memory of those maddening, agonizing nights was ever
afterwards associated with the picture of Mrs. Schlessinger
sitting on the stool by her bed while the light rays from the
lamp were refracted in the tears dropping from her small, kind
eyes on to her round red cheeks. And her mouth, which did
not stop talking for a second, her little grey plait of hair, the
white night-jacket trimmed with pointed lace, and her petticoat
of grey and pink stripped flannel scalloped at the bottom.
And the small room with plaster medallions in brass frames.
She had written to Heggen about her great joy, and he had
replied saying he would have loved to come and have a look
at the boy, but the journey was long and expensive and he was
on the point of starting for Italy. He sent his best wishes to
her and the little prince, hoping to welcome them both in Italy
soon. At the time of the child’s death Heggen was in Dresden
and sent her a long and sympathetic letter.
As soon as she was well enough to write she sent a few lines
to Gert, giving him her address, but asking him not to come and
see them until the spring, when baby would be big and pretty.
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