With a shiver of suspense she
crept back to bed to await the next alarm. In the early morning,
long before it was light, the dull thud of steps on the trodden snow
called her to the window again. She caught her breath as she drew
back the curtain; for through the long watches of the night she had
imagined every possible form of return.
This must be Barlasch. Louis and Barlasch must, of course, have met
Rapp on his homeward journey. On finding Charles, they had sent
Barlasch back in advance to announce the safety of Desiree's
husband. Louis would, of course, not come to Dantzig. He would go
north to Russia, to Reval, and perhaps home to England--never to
return.
But it was not Barlasch. It was a woman who staggered past under a
burden of firewood which she had collected in the woods of
Schottland, and did not dare to carry through the streets by day.
At last the clocks struck six, and, soon after, Lisa's heavy
footstep made the stairs creak and crack.
Desiree went downstairs before daylight. She could hear Mathilde
astir in her room, and the light of candles was visible under her
door. Desiree busied herself with household affairs.
"I have not slept," said Lisa bluntly, "for thinking that your
husband might return, and fearing that we should make him wait in
the street. But without doubt you would have heard him."
"Yes, I should have heard him."
"If it had been my husband, I should have been at the window all
night," said Lisa, with a gay laugh--and Desiree laughed too.
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