The chubby maidservant Johanna carries a heavy basket of laundry up the stairs. She stops at every landing and takes a short break. Then she enters dormitory number I and places a parcel of freshly laundered linen on each bed's quilt. As she stands in front of bed number 55, she pauses, rummages through Manuela's things, holds a nightgown up to the light, checks the stockings and finally puts everything back together with a sigh. She leaves the room slowly.

Fräulein von Bernburg hears a knock on her door.

"Come in," she calls from inside, and when Fräulein von Bernburg, who is sitting alone and busy at the desk, half turns around, Johanna begins awkwardly,

"I've brought the laundry, Fräulein von Bernburg."

"All right, Johanna, then you can go."

But Johanna stands there and doesn't leave, but continues,

"Fräulein von Bernburg . . ."

"Yes, what is it, Johanna?"

"I just wanted to say that number 55's laundry isn't fine any more."

"Oh."

"Yes, completely broken."

"Well, then Number 55 will darn it." Johanna is embarrassed. She gathers all her courage.

"I would like to do it for Fräulein Manuela."

"Oh, nonsense, Johanna! You have enough work yourself. You don't need to do other people's work too."

"But I'd like to do it for Fräulein Manuela."

"Really?"

"Yes, I don't know, she's such a lovely child, and then, I feel sorry for her. She cries so much at night. The pillow is often completely wet in the morning."

Fräulein von Bernburg's voice becomes dismissive. "Oh, Johanna, you're imagining it."

"No, certainly not; she's probably homesick."

"Yes, probably."

Everything is quiet for a moment. Johanna waits and crumples her apron in her hands; Fräulein von Bernburg seems to be thinking. Then she turns to the lass,

"Bring me number 55's laundry."

Johanna's kind eyes light up now that she has achieved what she wanted. She runs back to the dormitory, feverishly grabs Manuela's entire pile of laundry in her arms and presents it—each piece with an emotional murmur—to Fräulein von Bernburg.

Fräulein von Bernburg examines carefully the things which Johanna hands her.

"Tell Fräulein von Meinhardis to come up to see me. She's in the garden now."

"Oh, with pleasure, Fräulein von Bernburg!" Johanna, relieved, curtseyed in eagerness and rushed away.

Completely out of breath, she gives the order and Manuela—accompanied by Edelgard—climbs the stairs hesitantly.

"Edelgard, what could she possibly want from me? I'm terribly scared."

Having reached the door, she would like to turn back.

"If only there weren't something bad going on! If only she weren't angry. Edelgard, no . . ." She holds Edelgard's hand tightly as she tries to put an end to the scene by knocking on the door.

"Don't, just wait a moment!" And by making a makeshift move to straighten her hair, she gains time.

"But, Lel, she's waiting!"

"Yes," Manuela has an upright posture now, and Edelgard knocks on the door for her.

"Come here," she says in a dry commanding tone. And Lela obeys and stands next to her at the desk. Then Fräulein von Bernburg raises her head.

"Tell me, child, didn't they give you a new outfit when you were coming to the Seminary?"

"No, Fräulein von Bernburg." Manuela is ashamed.

"Where were you back then?"

"At home, Fräulein von Bernburg. Our housekeeper said it would do still."

Fräulein von Bernburg picks up a chemise and holds it up in the air between herself and Manuela. The armpits are torn, a big triangular hole adorns the lower part. The sparse lace is in shreds. Fräulein von Bernburg smiles.

"And what do you think?"

A shy smile is on Manuela's face.

"It's won't do any longer, Fräulein von Bernburg."

"Yes, really, it won't do any longer. If we use it to wipe the blackboard in our classroom . . ."

Manuela laughs, "That's what it's good for."

"But then you're one chemise short."

Fräulein von Bernburg gets up and goes to the wardrobe. After searching for a while, she finds what she needs. She returns with a chemise and holds it out to Lela. "You'll have to sew up the shoulder straps a little, it will be a little big, but you're still growing."

Manuela holds what she hands her with both hands. Tears of joy well up in her eyes.

"For me? No, that can't be!" she stammers. "A thousand, thousand thanks! But it's far too good for me!"

Fräulein von Bernburg laughs when she sees Manuela's joy. She also allows Manuela to take her hand and kiss it. But when Manuela wants to continue speaking, her voice fails her. Unable to hold herself up, she sobs, and Fräulein von Bernburg supports the staggering child with her arms. This friendly movement takes the last of Manuela's composure. Fräulein von Bernburg leads her to an armchair and sits Manuela down. She waits wordlessly until Lela comes around to some extent.

Lela struggles to keep her composure. Still sobbing and faltering, she wants to apologise, "I really don't know why I'm crying. I'm not unhappy at all. I'm really not."

And wiping her eyes, which are always wet, she looks embarrassedly up at Fräulein von Bernburg.

"Just cry yourself out, child. It won't do any harm. But tell me, do you do this often? Are you homesick?"

"Homesick?" Lela asks, completely astonished. "No."

"And you just have to do it for no reason at all . . ." Fräulein von Bernburg's voice is warm, serious and loving.

"Yes, I don't know . . . Oh, I'm so happy today, but sometimes . . ."

Fräulein von Bernburg has pulled up a chair next to Manuela's and sits down very close to her. "Sometimes?" she asks gently.

But Manuela doesn't want to speak. One can't tell her what needs to be said, especially her. Fräulein von Bernburg waits, then, somewhat disappointedly,

"Don't you have any confidence in me?"

"Oh, yes, I do!" Manuela stutters. "But that's—that's very difficult to say."

"Do you want to give it a try? If I tell you that I would very, very much want to know?"

Lela holds the chemise tightly and looks into her lap,

"When I go to bed at night and you close the door, I have such a longing because you're no longer there, and I always have to stare at the door, and then I think, I mustn't do that, and hold on to the bed tightly!

Fräulein von Bernburg has stood up and turns her back to Manuela. Manuela looks after her,

"You are always so far away, always so distant, I can never be with you, never hold your hand and kiss you, never be close!"

"But, child, tell me . . ."

But Lela doesn't let her say a word any more. She has pushed it all back for too long. With both arms around the hips of the woman standing in front of her, she lets the words rush out of her.

"I can't, I can't help it. I love you, dear Fräulein von Bernburg! I love you so, as much as my mother, yes, and much, much more! When I see your hands, I'm drawn to touch them. Your voice—when you call—grabs me, pulls me, I can't help it, I love, love you!"

Now Fräulein von Bernburg energetically takes the child's hands and frees herself. She walks across the room, far away, right up to the wall, and Lela follows her with her eyes, frightened by what has happened.

Then Fräulein von Bernburg composed herself,

"Listen to me, Manuela. I can't even listen to all what you're telling me. I think you're exaggerating this now, perhaps without meaning to. It can't be that bad. You have to pull yourself together. You have to be able to control yourself. Do you understand? Everyone has to be able to control themselves, Manuela. I control myself too!"

Manuela opens her eyes wide. She's too much of a child to even guess what a difficult confession that woman over there has just made to her. She has only heard the rebuke, and she bows. Trembling and with a final sob, she makes her promise,

"Yes, Fräulein von Bernburg!"

"And then I want to tell you something, and you have to take it very sensibly."

Fräulein von Bernburg's voice has become softer and she approaches the child again,

"I'm very fond of you, Manuela. And yet I can't look after you more than the others, you know that. But if you ever need something, you can always come to me."

She takes Lela's head quietly, her hand holds up Lela's chin, so that they both look into each other's eyes,

"Are you satisfied now?"

"Thank you, a thousand thanks!" And once again Lela quietly and reverently kisses her beloved hand, this beautiful hand which smells of lavender and Mother.