Memel soon was sleeping, and so Klara and Mewe left him alone, with Lucy following after. Lucy asked what was the matter with Memel; neither Klara nor Mewe answered for a time. Finally Mewe stirred, and said, “We don’t know what.”
“How long has he been ill?”
“It’s been coming and going for months. But not so bad as this.”
A pause, and Mewe said he was tired; now Klara led him to the front door, whispering in his ear as he left. Mewe nodded, and they shared a sad look. After Mewe had gone, Klara began chopping an onion for a stew. Lucy approached but didn’t touch her, sensing something was wrong beyond the fact of Memel being unwell. He said her name, but she only continued chopping, as though he weren’t there at all.
He asked, “Are you angry with me about something?”
“No,” she said.
“Will you tell me what’s the matter?”
“Nothing is.”
Lucy was watching the side of her face. “Has there been some news of Adolphus?”
Klara ceased chopping. She was shocked he had simply asked it. It took a moment for her to answer: she shook her head, no.
“Is it very hard for you, Klara?” said Lucy.
Another pause, when she set her knife aside and turned to Lucy, clutching him, pressing herself against his chest. She was trembling; he thought she was crying, though she made no sound. He asked her again what was the matter but she only said that she was sorry. She wouldn’t say why she was sorry.
Later that night they drank some of Memel’s wine, after which she became friendly and loving once again. She was simply tired, she explained, and she had missed Lucy, and was worried for her father. They retired to her room, and all was as it had been before. In the morning Lucy fed Memel some broth, along with the castle gossip; the old man was pleased for both, and did seem heartier when Lucy bid him good morning.
Klara kissed him at the door, helping him into his shirt. She framed his face with her hands, peering into his eyes with a determined adoration before saying her fond goodbyes. Lucy’s heart was full as he crossed the village, and he told himself he mustn’t let so many days pass without visiting, as the time apart was not healthy for his and Klara’s courtship. That was surely what the problem had been, he decided; and yet, some small voice doubted his reasoning. And then, too, why did the wily butcher leer at him so knowingly as he passed the stall?