It was Religion lesson. The first lesson of the day, which Fräulein von Bernburg herself gave to form III. It was dead quiet in the room. There was no mischief during this hour. Fräulein von Bernburg stood upright in front of the class and listened to a hymn which was today's task. The carol was recited as smoothly as usual. Each of the children learnt well, which was understandable. Manuela looked at Fräulein von Bernburg's face. She waited for Fräulein von Bernburg to take a look at her, but it didn't happen. Everyone was called out, except Manuela. Why? Lela's eyes took on an infinitely longing and sad expression. Her hands played nervously with the ruler. She was so far away. Then it sounded, "Manuela!"
She got up quickly.
"Third verse."
Manuela felt dizzy. The whole room was spinning.
"Oh, for a thousand tongues to sing—"
she began. Oh no, that was the first verse—the third—the third . . . Right,
"Why are you silent, all my powers—"
Go on, go on! She felt Fräulein von Bernburg's gaze on her, she also heard Ilse whispering something next to her. But she didn't understand anything, she stared fixedly into Miss von Bernburg's face and had forgotten everything.
Fräulein von Bernburg looked at her sadly, took out her book: "Nothing learnt again!" and Lela was able to sit down.
Lela always had the hymn book in her pocket. She learnt at every opportunity during the day. At night, she kept the book under her pillow. When she got dressed in the morning, she learnt. But as soon as Miss von Bernburg shouted "Manuela!", everything vanished. Then her head was empty, her knees were soft, her hands cold and damp. If only she could tell her once. She waited for the evening. She repeated to herself a hundred times what she would say and how she would say it. That she couldn't help it, that it was only fear, and that she had learnt so much, so much for her, only that it was of no use. Trembling she knelt in her bed. Fräulein von Bernburg had switched off the light and walked quietly from one bed to another. Two more beds and then she was with her, Lela. Her heart was pounding to bursting point. She gave herself her word of honour that she would "say everything" now. And she spread out her arms and—losing all her strength— threw herself round the neck of Fräulein von Bernburg, who almost lost her balance and, terrified, held the trembling child tightly.
"But Manuela, Manuela," she said quietly and reassuringly. She gently tried to loosen the arms around her neck. Lela grabbed the hands greedily, remembering what she had planned to do, and pressed her hot face into them. The hands did not resist. They let it happen. They picked up the child's face, wet with tears, and Fräulein von Bernburg bent down and kissed the trembling mouth.
"Calm down, Manuela!" Her hand strokes the head, which remains resting on her shoulder, and the child has no idea that she herself might need even more comfort at this moment.
"Calm down, my darling—don't be so excited!"
And she takes Manuela's shoulders carefully and presses her down onto her pillows.
"Sleep well." And a quiet "Thank you" comes from Lela.