"Well, frankly, ma chère (my dear), I don't understand you." Mademoiselle sat in a comfortable chair in Fräulein von Bernburg's room. The two ladies drank tea and nibbled pastries. Fräulein von Bernburg had leant back and was apparently absorbed in the picture which was hang on the wall above Mademoiselle. She did not prevent the Frenchwoman from continuing to speak; although she had often heard these things from her. She only had a cheerful smile for what Mademoiselle was spouting with so much zeal.
"Eh bien (indeed), you're a beautiful woman. You are young. Yes, I hear you have fortune. You have fascination. You are clever. You could play a major role in society. I don't understand you. Aristocrat. You can go to court. You could marry . . ."
Fräulein von Bernburg laughed in her face. But Mademoiselle shook her head.
"Why are you laughing, Fräulein von Bernburg? I'm telling the truth. You are a personality, and what do you do? You are rotting away here in this military house for girls. Enfin (Well), I, I'm old. I've always been a teacher. But one day I'll take my money and go to Paris too. Oh, Paris—that would be something for you! Not to sit here and grow old and dry up . . ."
"But dear old Nelke, I like being here."
"Mais non (But no), never—don't say that."
Now Fräulein von Bernburg becomes serious.
"On the contrary, my dear. Not only do I like it, I love my life the way it is."
"Mais comment (But how) —always the naughty children, always Kesten, always this Headmistress. Dieu me pardonne (God forgive me), that's not life."
"This is full, good, wonderful life. I love the children. I'm happy about them."
"Sans doute (No doubts), but you're so strict. You rarely laugh with them and have fun."
"They do that enough among themselves. The children need seriousness. They need us to hold on to them. We have to replace their mother and father at the same time."
"But you are never intimate with them. You keep your distance. Always distance."
A shadow crosses Fräulein von Bernburg's face.
"But no, I think I'll be a friend to them too if they need one. They all know they can come to me if they need to."
"Very well, but you yourself. You lead a life of renunciation—what for? There is so much . . ." The little Mademoiselle becomes excited.
"Not for me," Fräulein von Bernburg says quietly. "For me, there is only one thing: the love of the children. You see, Mademoiselle, the children need someone they can believe in."
"Ah ça (Ah that)," and Mademoiselle shrugs, "if that's enough for you. I was young once too. I couldn't have done anything with being an ideal for anyone but little girls."
Fräulein von Bernburg rose, and, resting both her hands on the table:
"It's enough for me, Mademoiselle," she says seriously. "An ideal is something incredibly high. To be an ideal for all these poor girls—who are sent so young among strangers, away from home, away from their siblings and Mother—that would be the greatest thing I would like to achieve."
The little wrinkled Mademoiselle has also risen.
"You are very selfless, Fräulein von Bernburg. In general, I'm always a little suspicious of selfless people. Most of the time they are the most selfish. But you—I admire you. I don't see where your self-interest is."
Fräulein von Bernburg is blushing deep down to the roots of her beautiful hair, which is only slightly covered by the cap of Seminsry's ladies.
"Selfishness is certainly already in the happiness of loving, mademoiselle, and out of this selfishness we make mistake after mistake."
A shrill ringing of the bell.
The little Mademoiselle gathers up her handiwork. "The bell drives me crazy. Believe me, I often want to cover my ears just so I don't hear the bell . . ."
And then, when there is no reply, she shakes her head, "You shouldn't get too attached to this house. You'll get tired of it one day—always the children; they come and go—always passing you by."
"Yes," says Fräulein von Bernburg, unable to smile at the moment, while Mademoiselle squeezes her hand as she leaves. "Always passing me by. That is true. But I don't forget them. And some of the children, believe me, mademoiselle," and for the first time her controlled voice began to tremble strangely, "some of them won't forget me either!"