you. Here’s the dressing gown you wore last night; we can draw it up when we belt it so you won’t trip on it.”
Constanze gazed from the rich gown to the pale, powdered face. “And my mother?” she croaked. “Has there been word from my mother, madame?”
“Sadly, she sent the police to fetch you, but I turned them away.”
“Oh God,” the girl murmured, sliding down in the sheets and biting the edge of her hand. “What shall I do? And what is he playing?”
“Variations on one of the themes from his opera. He says his mind is too confused to do more.”
“For heaven’s sake, do send him off. I can’t see him. Look at me. Tell him to come again tomorrow ... yes, and thank him for bringing me here. He’s the great kind spirit of our wretched family. Ask him to forgive me.”
From below the variations continued briefly, and then stopped suddenly mid passage. She tiptoed to the door to listen, then heard his footsteps. She wanted to rush down the steps and through the receiving hall, crying, Don’t go! But how could she show herself to him when she was so ugly, when Aloysia was always so beautiful? Aloysia would take time to adjust a cap, or rub on a little rouge. Then she heard the sound of a carriage and knew Mozart had gone away.
“I’m going from the city but will come again in three days and hope you’re better by then, dearest,” read the note he sent up to her.
He returned on a day so beautiful and warm that the doors of the conservatory were thrown open to the terrace that overlooked the garden. She saw him coming through the garden, up the formal path past the rose bushes. He wore his blue linen coat to his knees and a pair of blue breeches; as usual he seemed absorbed by something within him. She stood in the velvet dressing gown, pulled up at the waist, still a little weak from her fever. Her legs felt unsteady.
His face changed when he saw her. He blinked several times and came closer. Then he kissed both her hands. “I had a concert to give and some lessons,” he said. “And I’ve been working on the opera, but I’ve thought of you all the while, Constanze. I thought of you safe here and wanted to see you. I know you’re likely to go back because your mother’s worried about you and says she’s sorry. I went to see her, you know, and she said she was sorry. She was in tears, and I think she won’t stand against my coming to see you, Constanze, when you return.”
“But will you come?”
“I will, of course, every day.”
They walked out onto the terrace and stood by an enormous stone urn full of flowers; then he took her arm and together they walked up and down through the garden for a time. Looking at the long formal walks between the trees and an arbor, she repeated shyly, “You’ll come every day? But Wolfgang, I don’t even know what’s between us ... we haven’t said. I must ask you, though perhaps I shouldn’t. Are you in love with that English soprano who sings in the opera now? I know you were at an evening gathering with her where you all sang and played for hours. Someone told Mama you were in love with her.”
“No, not at all,” he exclaimed.
“Are you quite certain?”
“I know what I feel and what I don’t,” he said. “And if you ask me also about Mademoiselle Aurnhammer, I’ll laugh. Dearest, I’m glad your mother has apologized. I think I could charm her if I tried, but to tell the truth, I don’t care what or how she is as long as she’s good to you. Come tell me once and for all. Have you forgiven me for that stupid comment I made so long ago?” He laid his hat down on a stone bench, and drew her down to sit next to him. “I want to marry you,” he said. “I want to make you my wife. I’m twenty-five, and I have wanted a wife for a long time. I think I was waiting for you, my Stanzi. I know I was waiting.”
“You’re asking me to marry you?”
“With all my heart. Would you, Constanze?”
“I would, yes, I would. I think I love you, even though I didn’t know if I could love again. But,” she said with a sigh, “how can