"Look at thy child!" she cries, lifting up her little son; "take him in
thine arms. So! Kiss him not so roughly, for he is asleep. Look! thy
kisses have awakened him. Thy beard has tickled him, and he has opened
his eyes. Rock him in thine arms a little. Thou wert so fond of nursing
him once upon a time. So! take him on thy lap. What! art thou tired?
Wait and I will fill up thy glass for thee. Isn't the water icy-cold? I
have just filled it from the spring myself."
Then she heaps more food on her husband's platter, and rejoices that his
appetite is so good.
Then after supper she links her arm in his and, whispering and chatting
tenderly, leads him into the garden in the bright moonlit evening. The
faithful servant with tears in her eyes watches her as she walks all
alone along the garden path, from end to end, beneath the trees, acting
as if she were whispering and chatting with someone. She keeps on
asking him questions and listening to his replies, or she tells him all
manner of tales that he has not heard before. She tells him all that has
happened to her since they last separated, and shows him all the little
birds and the pretty flowers. After that she bids him step into a little
bower, makes him sit down beside her, moves her kaftan a little to one
side so that he may not sit upon it, and that she may crouch up close
beside him, and then she whispers and talks to him so lovingly and so
blissfully, and finally returns to the little hut so full of shamefaced
joy, looking behind her every now and then to cast another loving
glance--at whom?
And inside the house she prepares his bed for him, and places a soft
pillow for his head, lays her own warm soft arm beneath his head,
presses him to her bosom and kisses him, and then lays her child between
them and goes quietly to sleep after pressing his hand once more--whose
hand?
The next day from morn to eve she again waits for him, and at dusk sets
out once more along the road, and when she comes back finds him once
more in the little hut .
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