"What does it matter to you" said Maren. "Of course, you must have known him, since you worked in the house."
"Is he really dead? He was the best and kindest of men-indeed, there aren't many like him!" Tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, my God! Everything is going around! That's because I emptied the bottle. I couldn't stand so much. I feel so ill!" And she leaned against the fence for support.
"Good heavens, you are ill, indeed!" said Maren. "Try to get over it! No, you really are sick! I'd better get you home!"
"But the washing there!"
"I'll take care of that. Here, give me your arm. The boy can stay here and watch it till I come back and wash what's left. It's only a few pieces."
The poor laundress' legs were trembling under her. "I've stood too long in the cold water, with no food since yesterday! I have a burning fever. Oh, dear Lord Jesus, help me to get home! Oh, my poor child!" And she wept.
The boy cried too, as he sat alone beside the river, guarding the wet linen. The two women made their way slowly, the washerwoman dragging her shaky limbs up the little alley and through the street where the Mayor lived. Just as she reached the front of his house, she sank down on the cobblestones. A crowd gathered around her.
Limping Maren ran into his yard for help. The Mayor and his guests came to the windows.
"It's the washerwoman!" he said. "She's had a bit too much to drink; she's no good! It's a pity for that handsome boy of hers, I really like that child, but his mother is good for nothing."
And the washerwoman was brought to her own humble room, where she was put to bed. Kindly Maren hastened to prepare a cup of warm ale with butter and sugar-she could think of no better medicine in such a case-and then returned to the river, where, although she meant well, she did a very poor job with the washing; she only pulled the wet clothes out of the water and put them into a basket.
That evening she appeared again in the washerwoman's miserable room. She had begged from the Mayor's cook a couple of roasted potatoes and a fine fat piece of ham for the sick woman. Maren and the boy feasted on these, but the patient was satisfied with the smell, "For that was very nourishing," she said.
The boy was put to bed, in the same one in which his mother slept, lying crosswise at his mother's feet, with a blanket of old blue and red carpet ends sewed together.
The laundress felt a little better now; the warm ale had given her strength, and the smell of the good food had been nourishing.
"Thank you, my kind friend," she said to Maren, "I'll tell you all about it, while the boy is asleep. He's sleeping already; see how sweet he looks with his eyes closed. He doesn't think of his mother's sufferings; may our Lord never let him feel their equal! Well, I was in service at the Councilor's, the Mayor' parents, when their youngest son came home from his studies. I was a carefree young girl then, but honest-I must say that before heaven. And the student was so pleasant and jolly; every drop of blood in his veins was honest and true; a better young man never lived. He was a son of the house, and I was only a servant, but we became sweethearts-all honorably; a kiss is no sin, after all, if people really love each other. And he told his mother that he loved me. She was an angel in his eyes, wise and kind and loving. And when he went away again he put his gold ring on my finger.
"After he had gone my mistress called me in to speak to me; she looked so grave and yet so kind, and spoke as wisely as an angel indeed. She pointed out to me the gulf of difference, both mentally and materially, that lay between her son and me. 'Now he is attracted by your good looks, but that will fade in time. You haven't received his education; intellectually you can never rise to his level. I honor the poor,' she continued, ' and I know that there is many a poor man who will sit in a higher seat in the kingdom of heaven than many a rich man; but that is no reason for crossing the barrier in this world. Left to yourselves, you two would drive your carriage full tilt against obstacles, until it toppled over with you both. Now I know that Erik, the glovemaker, a good, honest craftsman, wants to marry you; he is a well-to-do widower with no children. Think it over!'
"Every word my mistress spoke went through my heart like a knife, but I knew she was right, and that weighed heavily upon me. I kissed her hand, and my bitter tears fell upon it. But still bitterer tears fell when I lay upon my bed in my own room. Oh, the long, dreary night that followed-our Lord alone knows how I suffered!