how many tears we used to shed over it! . . . My husband too . . . both of us, both. . . .”
Lucy read the inscription of the song: “Die Thräne, ein Lied von Kücken” Her hands then fell upon the keys. The weak, subdued tones sounded like the whispered words of a toothless old man. The old lady rested her left hand upon her side, and with beaming eyes looked at that yellow paper, while with her right hand she beat time; then she fell to singing:
“Macht man in’s Leben
Kaum den ersten Schritt.”
It was a thin voice, which got to rasping in the upper tones, as it trembled forth from her lips. Her old heart was more and more strongly agitated by the breath of recollections, and her sered face became colored with the red hue of an autumn leaf. . . .
“Bringe man als Kind schon
Eine Thräne mit,
Und Freudenthränen
Giebt, als ersten Gruss,
