And he kept his word, although his
plan for diverting the poor lady was not attended with much success.
Night after night he took his seat by the fire, exactly half an hour
after the evening meal was ended. Night after night Clara sat with
half-closed eyes, hearing his wooden voice, as in a dream, and
wondering how all would end. There was no change in their lives or
habits beyond the introduction of what Greifenstein called the
amusement of his wife. It was all the same, the monotonous succession
of morning and evening, of night and noon and evening again. Possibly
the lives of these two persons might have continued to crawl along in
the narrow channel they had made for themselves during many years more,
if the events which had been so long preparing had been retarded; for
Greifenstein was a man of habit in everything, incapable of weariness
in the performance of what he considered to be his duty, and Clara's
really strong health might have carried her through half a lifetime of
exasperating stagnation. Indeed, if things altered at all after the
conversation about her state, the change was for the better. A
fictitious calm descended upon the old house, and a certain gentleness
found its way into the relations of the couple which was agreeable to
both. With Clara this was the result of exhaustion and despair. She
felt herself wholly unable to bear any great disaster should it fall
upon her, and she was grateful to her husband, and prayed, if she
prayed at all, that both might die peacefully during those days.
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