[{"id": 161472, "created": "2022-06-08T14:55:58.953936", "project_id": 379, "task_id": 74785, "user_id": 427, "user_ip": null, "finish_time": "2022-06-08T15:30:53.626403", "timeout": null, "calibration": null, "external_uid": null, "media_url": null, "info": {"other": "", "translation": "Viola Tricolor\r\nby\r\nTheodor Storm\r\n\r\nIt was very quiet in the large house; but even on the hallway, one felt the scent of fresh bouquets of flowers.\r\nFrom a double wing door opposite of the broad stairway leading to the upper floor of the house entered an old, cleanly-clothed servant. With a solemn complacency she pressed the door shut behind her and let her grey eyes wander the walls as if she wanted to subject even here any mote of dust to a last examination; but she nodded approvingly and threw a glance at the old English house-clock whose chimes upstairs had played its course for the second time.\r\n\"Already half past\", the old woman murmured; \"and at eight the gentlemen were supposed to be here, the professor wrote.\"\r\nWith this, she reached for a bunch of keys in her pocket and then disappeared to the back rooms of the house. - And again it was silent; only the sound of the clock's pendulum sounded through the roomy hallway and up into the staircase, a beam of the evening sun fell through the window above the main door and twinkled on the three gilded buds crowning the clock case.\r\nThen, small light steps came from above, and a girl around ten years appeared on the landing. She as well was clothed freshly and in state, and the red-and-white-striped dress became her brownish little face and the shining black braids. She set her arm on the bannister and her head on her arm and let herself thus slide downwards, while her dark eyes were set dreamishly on the chamber door to the opposite.\r\nFor a moment she stood listening in the corridor, then she silently pressed the door of the chamber open and slid in through the heavy curtains. - \r\nIt had grown dusky already, for both windows of the deep room were placed towards a street cramped with high houses; only to the side, above the sofa, a Venetian mirror shone like silver on the dark-green velvet hangings. In this solitude, its sole purpose seemed to be to reflect the image of a fresh bouquet of roses which stood in a marble vase on the coffee table. Soon, however, the child's dark head appeared in its frame. On her tiptoes, the little one had slunk across the soft carpet, and already the slim fingers reached hastily between the flower stalks while her eyes flew back to the door. Finally she succeeded in loosening a cabbage rose from the bouquet; but in gazing on it she had not paid attention to the thorns, and a red drop of blood ran across her arm. Quickly - for it had almost fallen onto the pattern of the valuable tablecloth - she sucked it up with her lips; then, as quietly as she had come, the stolen rose in her hand, she slipped out again through the door curtains onto the corridor. After she had listened here again for a while, she flew the stairs back up again she had come down before, and upstairs along a hallway up to its last door. She threw one more glance through one of the windows in front of which the swallows crossed in the evening light; then she pressed open the handle.\r\nIt was her father's study which she usually did not enter in his absence, now she was all alone between the high repositories [...]"}}]