Chapter X   
     
IT was already growing dark when they stood once more in front of Frau Nimptsch’s house, and Botho, who had quickly recovered his high spirits, wanted to come in for just a moment and then bid good-bye at once. But when Lena had reminded him of all sorts of promises, and Frau Dörr with much emphasis and much use of her eyes had reminded him of the still outstanding philopena, he yielded and decided to spend the evening.      1   
  “That is right,” said Frau Dörr. “And I will stay too. That is, if I may and if I shall not be in the way of the philopena. For one can never know. And I will just take my hat and cloak home and then come right back.”      2   
  “Surely you must come back,” said Botho, as he shook hands with her. “We shall never be so young when we meet again.”      3   
  “No, no,” laughed Frau Dörr, “We shall never be so young when we meet again. And it is quite impossible, of course even if we should meet again to-morrow. For a day is always a day and must amount to something. And therefore it is perfectly true that we shall never be so young when we meet again. And every one must agree to that.”      4   
  In this fashion she went on for a while longer, and the wholly undisputed fact of growing older every day pleased her so much that she repeated it several times yet. And then she went out. Lena escorted her out through the hall, while Botho sat down by Frau Nimptsch and asked, as he put her shawl around her shoulders, “whether she was still angry with him for taking Lena away again for a couple of hours? But it had been so beautiful there on the mound where they had sat to rest and talk that they had quite forgotten the time.”      5   
  “Yes, happy people forget the time,” said the old woman. “And youth is happy, and that is right and good. But when one grows old, dear Herr Baron, the hours grow long and one wishes the day was done and life too.”      6   
  “Ah, you are only saying that, Mutterchen. Old or young, everyone loves life. Isn’t that so, Lena, that we all love life?”      7   
  Lena had just come back into the room and ran to him as if struck by what he had said and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him and was far more passionate than was usual with her.      8   
  “Lena, what is the matter with you?”      9   
  But she had already regained her self-control and with a quick gesture she refused his sympathy, as if to say: “Do not ask.” And while Botho was talking with Frau Nimptsch, she went to the kitchen cupboard, rummaged about there a little and came back immediately with a perfectly cheerful face, bringing a little blue book sewed up in paper, which looked like the books in which housewives write down their daily tasks. In fact the book served this purpose and also contained questions which Lena had noted down either out of curiosity or because of some deeper interest. She now opened it and pointed to the last page, on which Botho’s eyes immediately fell upon the heavily underscored words: “Things I need to know.”     10   
  “For heaven’s sake, Lena, that sounds like a tract or the title of a comedy.”     11   
  “It is something of the sort. Read on.”     12   
  And he read: “Who were the two ladies at the Corso? Is it the elder or is it the younger? Who is Pitt? Who is Serge? Who is Gaston?”     13   
  Botho laughed. “If I should answer all those questions, Lena, I should have to stay till early to-morrow morning.”     14   
  It was fortunate that Frau Dörr was not present to hear this answer or else there would have been a fresh embarrassment. But the good lady who was usually so brisk, at least where the Baron was concerned, had not yet returned, and so Lena said: “Very well, then, have it your own way. And for all I care, the two ladies may wait until another time! But what do the foreign names mean? I asked you before, the time you brought the bonbons. But you gave me no real answer, only half an answer. Is it a secret?”     15   
  “No.”     16   
  “Then tell me about it.”     17   
  “Gladly, Lena, these names are only nicknames.”     18   
  “I know that. You said so before.”     19   
  “So they are names that we have given each other for convenience, with or without reason, just by chance.”     20   
  “And what does Pitt mean?”     21   
  “Pitt was an English statesman.”     22   
  “And is your friend a statesman too?”     23   
  “For heaven’s sake …”     24   
  “And Serge?”     25   
  “That is a Russian given name, belonging to a Russian saint and many Russian crown princes.”     26   
  “Who, however, do not find it necessary to be saints if I am right?… And Gaston?”     27   
  “Is a French name.”     28   
  “Yes, I remember that. Once when I was a little young thing, before I was confirmed, I saw a piece: ‘The Man with the Iron Mask.’ And the man with the mask was called Gaston. And I cried dreadfully.”     29   
  “And now you will laugh if I tell you that I am Gaston.”     30   
  “No, I will not laugh. You have a mask too.”     31   
  Botho was about to contradict this, both in earnest and in jest, but Frau Dörr, who just then came in, broke off the conversation, by excusing herself for having kept them waiting so long. But an order had come in and she had been obliged to make a burial wreath in a hurry.     32   
  “A big one or a little one?” asked Frau Nimptsch, who loved to talk about funerals and had a passion for hearing all the details about them.     33   
  “Well,” said Frau Dörr, “it was a middle-sized one; plain people. Ivy and azaleas.”     34   
  “Oh, Lord!” went on Frau Nimptsch, “every one is wild about ivy and azaleas, but I am not. Ivy is well enough when it grows on the grave and covers it all so green and thick that the grave seems as peaceful as he who lies below. But ivy in a wreath, that is not right. In my day we used immortelles, yellow or half yellow, and if we wanted something very fine we took red ones or white ones and made a wreath out of those, or even just one color and hung it on the cross, and there it hung all winter, and when spring came there it hung still. And some lasted longer than that. But this ivy and azalea is no good at all. And why not? because it does not last long. And I always think that the longer the wreath hangs on the grave, the longer people remember him who lies below. And a widow too, if she is not too young. And that is why I favor immortelles, yellow or red or even white, and any one can hang up another wreath also if he wants to. That is just for the looks of it. But the immortelle is the real thing.”     35   
  “Mother,” said Lena, “you talk so much about graves and wreaths lately.”     36   
  “Yes, child, everyone speaks as he thinks. And if one is thinking of a wedding, he talks about weddings, and if he is thinking of a funeral, then he talks about graves. And, anyway, I didn’t begin talking about graves and wreaths; Frau Dörr began it, which was quite right. And I only keep on talking about it because I am always anxious and I keep thinking. Who will bring you one?”     37   
  “Now, mother.…”     38   
  “Yes, Lena, you are good, you are a dear child. But man proposes and God disposes, and to-day red, to-morrow dead. And you might die any day as well as I; for all that, I do not believe you will. And Frau Dörr may die, or when I die she may live somewhere else, or I may be living somewhere else and may have just moved in. Ah, my dear Lena, one can never be sure of anything, not even of a wreath for one’s grave.”     39   
  “Oh, but you can, Mother Nimptsch,” said Botho, “you shall certainly have one.”     40   
  “Oh, Herr Baron, if that is only true.”     41   
  “And if I am in Petersburg or Paris, and I hear that my old friend Frau Nimptsch is dead, I will send a wreath, and if I am in Berlin or anywhere near, I will bring it myself.”     42   
  The aged woman’s face brightened for joy. “There, now you have said something, Herr Baron. And now I shall have a wreath for my grave and it is dear to me that I shall have it. For I cannot endure bare graves, that look like a burial ground for orphans or prisoners or worse. But now make the tea, Lena, the water is boiling already, and we have strawberries and milk. And sour too. Heavens, the Herr Baron must be quite starved. Looking and looking makes folks hungry, I can remember so much yet. Yes, Frau Dörr, we had our youth, even if it was long ago. But men were the same then as they are to-day.”     43   
  Frau Nimptsch, who happened to be talkative this evening, philosophised for a while longer, while Lena was bringing in the supper and Botho continued to amuse himself by teasing Frau Dörr. It was a good thing that she had put away her theatre, but not for the mound near Wilmersdorf. Where did she get the hat? No princess had such a hat. And he had never seen anything so becoming; he would not speak for himself alone, but a prince might have fallen in love with it.”     44   
  The good woman did indeed realize that he was joking. But still she said: “Yes, indeed, when Dörr once gets started, he is so eager and so fastidious that I can hardly tell what has come over him. Day by day he is quite dull, but all of a sudden he is as if he had changed into another man and then I always say to myself: there must be something the matter with him and this is the only way he knows how to show it.”     45   
  And so the talk went on over the tea, until ten o’clock. Then Botho rose to go and Lena and Frau Dörr accompanied him through the front garden to the gate. While they were standing there Frau Dörr reminded them that after all they had forgotten the philopena. Both seemed desirous to disregard this reminder and repeated once more how delightful the afternoon had been. “We must make such little excursions oftener, Lena, and when I come again, we will think where to go. I shall be sure to think of something, some place where it is quiet and beautiful, and further away, and not just across the fields.”     46   
  “And we will take Frau Dörr with us again,” said Lena. “You ask her, will you not, Botho?”     47   
  “Certainly, Lena. Frau Dörr must always go with us. Without her the trip would be a failure.”     48   
  “Ah, Herr Baron, I could never accept that, I could never expect such a thing.”     49   
  “Oh, yes indeed, dear Frau Dörr”, laughed Botho. “You may expect everything, such a woman as you.”     50   
  And therewith they parted.

Chapter XI   
     
THE COUNTRY excursion, which had been promised or at least discussed after the walk to Wilmersdorf, was now the favorite topic for several weeks, and whenever Botho came the question was, where to go? All possible places were mentioned: Erkner and Kranichberg, Schwilow and Baumgartenbrück, but all were too much frequented, and so it happened that at last Botho spoke of Hankel’s Ablage, the beauty and solitude of which he had heard enthusiastically described. Lena agreed, for all she wanted was to get out into God’s green world, as far as possible from the city and its doings, and to be with her lover. It really did not matter where.      1   
  The next Friday was decided upon for the excursion. “Agreed.” And so they started by the Görlitz afternoon train for Hankel’s Ablage, where they had engaged quarters for the night and meant to pass the next day very quietly.      2   
  There were very few coaches on the train, but even these were not very full, and so it happened that Botho and Lena found themselves alone. In the next coupé there was a good deal of talk, from which it was plainly to be heard that these were through passengers and not people meaning to stop over at Hankel’s Ablage.      3   
  Lena was happy, and gave her hand to Botho and gazed silently at the landscape with its woods and meadows. At last she said: “But what will Frau Dörr say about our leaving her at home?”      4   
  “She needn’t find it out.”      5   
  “Mother will be sure to tell her.”      6   
  “Why, that is rather bad and yet we could not do any differently. Look here! It was well enough out in the fields the other day, because we were quite alone. But if we do find ourselves practically alone at Hankel’s Ablage, yet we shall have a host and a hostess and perhaps a waiter from Berlin. And a waiter laughing quietly to himself or at least laughing inwardly, I cannot endure: he would spoil all my pleasure. Frau Dörr, when she is sitting by your mother or teaching the proprieties to old Dörr, is great fun, but not in public. Amongst people she is simply a comical figure and an embarrassment to us.”      7   
     
  Towards five the train stopped at the edge of a wood.… Actually no one but Botho Lena got out, and the two walked leisurely and with frequent pauses to a tavern, which stood close to the Spree and about ten minutes’ walk from the little station. This “Establishment,” as it was described on a slanting signboard, had been originally a mere fisherman’s cottage, which had very gradually, and more by addition than by rebuilding, been changed into a tavern. The view across the stream made up for all other deficiencies, so that the brilliant reputation which the place enjoyed among the initiated never for a moment seemed exaggerated. Lena, too, felt quite at home immediately, and went and sat in a sort of veranda-like room that had been built on, and that was half covered over by the branches of an old elm that stood between the house and the bank.      8   
  “Let us stay here,” said she. “Just see the boats, two, three … and further out a whole fleet is coming. Yes, it was indeed a lucky thought that brought us here. Only see how they run back and forth on the boats and put their weight on the rudder. And yet it is all so silent. Oh, my own dear Botho, how beautiful it is and how I love you!”      9   
  Botho rejoiced to see Lena so happy. Something determined and almost severe that had always formed a part of her character seemed to have disappeared and to have been replaced by a new gentleness, and this change seemed to make her perfectly happy. Presently mine host who had inherited the “Establishment” from his father and grandfather, came to take the orders of the “gentle folk,” and especially to ascertain whether they intended to stay overnight, and when this question was answered in the affirmative, he begged them to decide upon their room. There were several at their disposal, but the gable room would probably suit them the best. It was, indeed, low studded, but was large and roomy and had the view across the Spree as far as the Müggelborg.     10   
  When his proposal had been accepted, the host went to attend to the necessary preparations, and Botho and Lena were left once more to enjoy to the full the happiness of being quietly alone together. A finch whose nest was in a low bush near by was swinging on a drooping twig of the elm, the swallows were darting here and there, and finally came a black hen followed by a whole brood of ducklings, passed the veranda, and strutted pompously out on a little wooden pier that was built far out over the water. But half way along this pier the hen stopped, while the ducklings plunged into the water an swam away.     11   
  Lena watched all this eagerly. “Just look, Botho, how the stream rushes through among the posts.” But actually it was neither the pier nor the water flowing through, that attracted her attention, but the two boats that were moored there. She coquetted with the idea and indulged in various trifling questions and references, and only when Botho remained deaf to all this did she express herself more plainly and declare that she wanted to go boating.     12   
  “Women are incorrigible. Incorrigible in their light-mindedness. Think of that Easter Monday! Just a hair’s breadth …”     13   
  “And I should have been drowned. Certainly. But that is only one side of the matter. There followed the aquaintance with a handsome man, you may be able to guess whom a mean. His name is Botho. I am sure you will not think of Easter Monday as an unlucky day? I am more amiable and more gallant than you.”     14   
  “There, there … But can you row, Lena?”     15   
  “Of course I can. And I can steer and raise a sail too. Because I wad near being drowned, you think I don’t know anything? But it was the boy’s fault, and for that matter, any one might be drowned.”     16   
  And then they walked down the pier to the two boats, whose sails were reefed, while their pennants with their names embroidered on them fluttered from the masthead.     17   
  “Which shall we take,” said Botho, “the Trout or the Hope?”     18   
  “Naturally, the Trout. What have we to do with Hope?”     19   
  Botho understood well enough that Lena said that on purpose to tease him, for in spite of her delicacy of feeling, still as a true child of Berlin she took pleasure in witty little speeches. He excused this little fling, however, and helped her into the boat. Then he sprang in too. Just as he was about to cast off the host came down the pier bringing a jacket and a plaid, because it would grow cold as the sun went down. They thanked him and soon were in the middle of the stream, which was here scarcely three hundred paces wide, as it flowed among the islands and tongues of land. Lena used her oars only now and then, but even these few strokes sufficed to bring them very soon to a field overgrown with tall grass which served as a boatbuilder’s yard, where at some little distance from them a new boat was being built and various old leaky ones were being caulked and repaired.     20   
  “We must go and see the boats,” said Lena gaily, taking Botho’s hand and urging him along, but before they could reach the boat builder’s yard the sound of hammer and axe ceased and the bells began to ring, announcing the close of the day’s work. So they turned aside, perhaps a hundred paces from the dockyard into a path which led diagonally across a field, to a pine wood. The reddish trunks of the trees glowed wonderfully in the light of the sinking sun, while their tops seemed floating in a blush mist.     21   
  “I wish I could pick you a pretty bunch of flowers,” said Botho, taking Lena’s hand. “But look, there is just the grassy field, all grass and no flowers. Not one.”     22   
  “But there are plenty. Only you do not see them, because you are too exacting.”     23   
  “And even if I were, it is only for your sake.”     24   
  “Now, no excuses. You shall see that I can find some.”     25   
  And stooping down, she searched right and left saying: “Only look, here … and there … and here again. There are more here than in Dörr’s garden; only you must have an eye for them.” And she plucked the flowers diligently, stooping for them and picking weeds and grass with them, until in a very short time she had a quantity both of attractive blossoms and of useless weeds in her hands.     26   
  Meanwhile they had come to an old empty fisherman’s hut, in front of which lay an upturned boat on a strip of sand strewn with pine cones from the neighboring wood.     27   
  “This is just right for us,” said Botho: “we will sit down here. You must be tired. And now let me see what you have gathered. I don’t believe you know yourself, and I shall have to play the botanist. Give them here. This is ranunculus, or buttercup, and this is mouse’s ear. Some call it false forget-me-not. False, do you hear? And this one with the notched leaf is taraxacum, our good old dandelion, which the French use for salad. Well, I don’t mind. But there is a distinction between a salad and a bouquet.”     28   
  “Just give them back,” laughed Lena. “You have no eye for such things, because you do not love them, and the eyes and love always belong together. First you said there were no flowers in the field, and now, when we find them, you will not admit that they are really flowers. But they are flowers, and pretty ones too. What will you bet that I can make you something pretty out of them.”     29   
  “I am really curious to see what you will choose.”     30   
  “Only those that you agree to. And now let us begin. Here is a forget-me-not, but no mouse’s ear—forget-me-not, but a real one. Do you agree?”     31   
  “Yes.”     32   
  “And this is speedwell, the prize of honor, a dainty little blossom. That is surely good enough for you. I do not even need to ask. And this big reddish brown one is the devil’s paintbrush, and must have grown on purpose for you. Oh yes, laugh at it. And these,” and she stooped to pick a couple of yellow blossoms, that were growing in the sand at her feet, “these are immortelles.”     33   
  “Immortelles,” said Botho. “They are old Frau Nimptsch’s passion. Of course we must take those, we need them. And now we must tie up our little bouquet.”     34   
  “Very well. But what shall we tie it with? We will wait till we find a strong grass blade.”     35   
  “No, I will not wait so long. And a grass blade is not good enough for me, it is too thick and coarse. I want something fine. I know what, Lena, you have such beautiful long hair; pull out one and tie the bouquet with that.”     36   
  “No,” said she decidedly.     37   
  “No? And why not? Why not?”     38   
  “Because the proverb says ‘hair binds.’ And if I bind the flowers with it you too will be bound.”     39   
  “But that is superstition. Frau Dörr says so.”     40   
  “No, the good old soul told me herself. And whatever she has told me from my youth up, even if it seemed like superstition, I have always found it correct.”     41   
  “Well, have it so. I will not contradict you. But I will not have the flowers tied with anything else but a strand of your hair. And you will not be so obstinate as to refuse me.”     42   
  She looked at him, pulled a long hair from her head and wound it around the bunch of flowers. Then she said: “You chose it. Here, take it. Now you are bound.”     43   
  He tried to laugh, but the seriousness with which Lena had been speaking, and especially the seriousness with which she had pronounced the last words, did not fail to leave an impression on his mind.     44   
  “It is growing cool,” said he after a while. The host was right to bring you a jacket and a plaid. Come, let us start.”     45   
  And so they went back to the boat, and made haste to cross the stream.     46   
  Only now, as they were returning, and coming nearer and nearer, did they see how picturesquely the tavern was situated. The thatched roof sat like a grotesque high cap above the timbered building, whose four little front windows were just being lit for the evening. And at the same time a couple of lanterns were carried out to the veranda, and their weird-looking bands of light shone out across the water through the branches of the old elm, which in the darkness resembled some fantastically wrought grating.     47   
  Neither spoke. But the happiness of each seemed to depend upon the question how long their happiness was to last.

Chapter XII   
     
IT was already growing dark as they landed.      1   
  “Let us take this table,” said Botho, as they stepped on to the veranda again: “You will fell no draught here and I will order you some grog or a hot claret cup, shall I not? I see you are chilly.”      2   
  He offered several other things, but Lena bagged to be allowed to go up to her room, and said that by and by when he came up she would be perfectly well again. She only felt a trifle poorly and did not need anything and if she could only rest a little, it would pass off.      3   
  Therewith she excused herself and went up to the gable room which has been prepared in the meantime. The hostess, who was indulging in all sorts of mistaken conjectures, accompanied her, and immediately asked with much curiosity, “what really was the matter,” and without waiting for an answer, she went right on: yes, it was always so with young women, she had had just such a time. It just rushed her eldest was born (she now had four and would have had five, but the middle one had come too soon and did not live), she had had just such a time. It just rushed over one so, and one felt ready to die. But a cup of balm tea, that is to say, the genuine monastery balm, would give a quick relief and one would fell like a fish in the water and quite set up and merry and affectionate too. “Yes, yes, gracious lady, when one has four, without counting the little angle.…”      4   
  Lena had some difficulty in concealing her embarrassment and asked, for the sake of saying something, for a cup of the monastery balm tea, of which she had already heard.      5   
     
  While this conversation was going on up in the gable room, Botho had taken a seat, not in the sheltered veranda, but at a primitive wooden table that was nailed on four posts in front of the veranda and afforded a fine view. He planned to take his evening meal here. He ordered fish, and as the “tench and dill” for which the tavern was famous was brought, the host came to ask what kind of wine the Herr Baron desired? (He gave him this title by mere chance.)      6   
  “I think,” said Botho, “Brauneberger, or let us say rather Rudesheimer would suit the delicate fish best, and to show guest and drink some of your own wine.”      7   
  The host bowed smilingly and soon came back with a dusty bottle, while the maid, a pretty Wendin in a woolen gown and a black head-kerchief, brought the glasses on a tray.      8   
  “Now let us see,” said Botho. “The bottle promise all sorts of good qualities. Too much dust and cobweb is always suspicious, but this … Ah, superb! This is the vintage of ’70, is it not? And now we must drink, but to what? To the prosperity of Hankel Ablage.”      9   
  The host was evidently delighted, and Botho, who saw what a good impression he was making, went on speaking in his own gentle and friendly way: “I find it charming here, and there is only one thing to be said against Hankel’s Ablage: its name”     10   
  “Yes,” agreed the host, “the name might be better and it is really unfortunate for us. And yet there is a reason for the name, Hankle’s Ablage really was an Albage, and so it is still called.”     11   
  “Very good. But this brings us no further forward than before. Why is it called an Ablage? And what is an Ablage?”     12   
  “Well, it is as much as to say a place for loading and unloading. The whole stretch of land hereabouts (and he pointed backward) was, in fact, always one great domain, and was called under Old Fritz and even earlier under the warrior kings the domain Wusterhausen. And the thirty villages as well as the forest and moorland all belonged to it. Now you see the thirty villages naturally had to obtain and use many things, or what amounts to the same thing, they had to have egress and ingress, and for both they needed from the beginning a harbor or a place to buy and sell, and the only doubt would have been what place they should choose for the purpose. They actually chose this place; this bay became a harbor, a mart, an “Ablage” for all that came and went, and since the fisher who lived here at that time was my grandfather Hankel, the place become “Hankel’s Ablage.”     13   
  “It is a pity,” said Botho, “that this cannot be so well and clearly explained to everyone,” and the host who felt encouraged by the interest shown was about to continue. But before he could begin, the cry of a bird was heard high in the air, and as Botho looked up curiously, he saw that two large, powerful birds, scarcely recognizable in the twilight, were flying above the water.     14   
  “Were those wild geese?”     15   
  “No, herons. The whole forest hereabouts is full of them. For that matter, it is regular hunting ground. There are huge numbers of wild boar and deer and woodcock, and among the reeds and rushes here ducks, and snipe.”     16   
  “Delightful,” said Botho, in whom the hunter was waking up. “Do you know snipe, woodcocks! One could almost wish to be in such pleasant circumstances also. Only it must be lonely here, too lonely.”     17   
  The host smiled to himself and Botho, who noticed this, became curious and said: “You laugh. But is it not so? For half an hour I have heard nothing but the water gurgling under the pier, and just now the call of the herons. I call that lonely, however beautiful it may be. And now and them a couple of big sailboats glide by, but they are all alike, or oat least they look very similar. And really each one seems to be a phantom ship. It is an still as death.”     18   
  “Certainly,” said the host. But, that is only as long as it lasts.”     19   
  “How so?”     20   
  “Yes,” repeated the host, “as long as it lasts. You speak of solitude, Here Baron, and for days together it is truly lonely here. And it might be so for weeks. But scarcely has the ice broken up and the spring come when we have guests and the Berliner has arrived.”     21   
  “When does he come?”     22   
  “Incredibly early. All in a moment there they are. See here, Here Baron, while I, who am hardened to the weather, am still staying indoors because the east wind blows and the March sun scorches, the Berliner already sits out of doors, lays his summer overcoat on the chair and orders pale ale. For if only the sun shines the Berliner speaks of beautiful weather. It is all the same to him if there is inflammation of the lungs or diptheria in every wind that blows. It is then that the he best likes to play grace-hoops, blistered from the reflected sunlight, my heart really aches for them, for there is not one among them whose skin will not peel off at least by the following day.”     23   
  Botho laughed. “Yes, indeed, the Berliners! And that reminds me, your Spree hereabouts must be the place where the oarsmen and yachtsmen meet to hold their regattas.”     24   
  “Certainly.” said the host. “But that is not saying very much. If there are good many, there may be fifty or perhaps a hundred. And then all is still again, and the water sports are over for weeks and months. No, club members are comfortable to deal with; by comparison they are endurable. But in June when the steamers come, it is bad. And then it will continue all summer, or at any rate a long, long time …”     25   
  “I believe you,” said Botho.     26   
  “Then a telegram comes every evening. ’Early to-morrow morning at nine o’clock we shall arrive by the steamer Alse. Party to send the day. 240 persons’. And then follow the names of those who have gotten up the affair. It does well enough for once. But the trouble is, it lasts so long. For how do such parties spend their time? They are out in the woods and field until it is growing dark, and then comes their dinner, and then they dance till eleven. Now you will say, ’That is nothing much,’ and it would not be anything much if the following day were a holiday. But the second day is like the first, and the third is like the second. Every evening at about eleven a steamer leaves with two hundred and forty person and every morning at nine a steamer arrives with just as many on board. And between whiles everything must be cleared away and tidied up. And so the night passes in airing, polishing and scrubbing, and when one counts up his receipts towards midnight one is already arriving. Naturally, everything has its good side, knows what he has been toiling for. “From nothing you get nothing,” says the proverb and it is quite true, and if I were to fill all the punch bowels that have been drunk here I should have to get a Heidelberg tun. It brings something in, certainly, and is quite right and proper. But according as one moves forward he also moves backward and pays with the best that he has, with his life and health. For what is life without sleep?”     27   
  “True, I already see,” said Botho, ”no happiness is complete. But then comes winter, and then you sleep like the seven sleepers.”     28   
  “Yes, if it does not happen to be New Year’s or Twelfth Night or Carnival. And these holidays come oftener than the calendar shows. You ought to see the life here when they arrive in sleighs or on skates from all the ten villages, and gather in the great hall that hands and chambermaids we don’t see one citified face among them, and the Berliners leave us in peace, but the farm hands and chambermaids have their day. Then we see otter skin caps and corduroy jackets with silver buttons, and all kinds of soldiers who are on leave are there also: Schwedter Dragoons and Furstenwald Uhlans, or perhaps Potsdam Hussars. And everyone is jealous and quarrelsome, and one cannot tell which they like best, dancing or fighting, and on the slightest pretext the villages are arrayed against each other in battle. And so with noise and turbulent sports they pass the whole long night and whole mountains of pancakes disappear, and only at dawn do they leave for home over the frozen river or over the snow.”     29   
  “Now I see plainly,” said Botho, “that you have not very much solitude or deathly stillness. But it is fortunate that I knew nothing about all this, or else I should not to have seen such a beautiful spot.… But as you said before; what is life without sleep? and I fell that you are right. I am tired, although it is still early; I think it must be the effect of the air and the water. And then I must go and see… Your good wife has taken so much trouble … Good night, I have talked quite enough.”     30   
  And thereupon he rose and went into the house, which had now grown very quite.     31   
     
  Lena had lain down on the bed with feet on a chair at the bedside and had drunk a cup of the tea that the hostess had brought her. The rest and the warmth did her good, the little attack passed off, and some little time ago she could have gone down to the veranda to join in the conversation of Botho and the landlord. But she was not in a talkative mood, and so she only got up to look around the room, in which she had thus far taken no interest.     32   
  And the room was well worth her attention. The timbers and the plastered walls had been allowed to remain since former times, and the whitewashed ceiling was so low that one could reach it with one’s hand. But whatever could be improved had been improved. Instead of the small panes which one still saw on the ground floor, a large window reaching nearly down to the floor had been set in, which afforded, as the host had said, a beautiful view of the scenery, both woods and water. But the large window was not all that has been accomplished here in the way of modern comfort. A few good pictures, very likely bought at some auction, hung on the old irregular plastered walls, and where the projecting window gable joined the sloping roof of the room itself stood a pair of handsome toilet tables facing each other. Everything showed that the character of the fisherman’s and boatman’s tavern had been carefully kept, while at the same time the place had been turned into a pleasing hotel for the rich sportsmen of the yacht club.     33   
  Lena was much pleased with all that she saw, and began to examine the pictures that hung in board frames to the right and felt of the bed. They were engravings, the subjects of which interested her keenly, and so she wanted to read the inscriptions under each, One was inscribed “Washington Crossing the Delaware” and the other. “The Last Hour at Trafalgar.” But she could get no further than merely to decipher the syllables, and although it was a very small matter, it gave her pang, because it emphasised the chasm that divided her from Botho. He was, indeed, in the habit of making fun of learning and education, but she was clever enough to know what to think of such jesting.     34   
  Close to the entrance door, above a rococo table, on which stood some red glasses and a water carafe, hung a gay colored lithograph with an inscription in three languages: “Si jeunesse savait”—a picture which Lena remembered having seen at the Dörrs’. Dörr loved such things. When she saw it here again, she shivered and felt distressed. Her fine sensibility was hurt by the sensual quality of the picture as if it were a distortion of her own feeling, and so, in order to shake off the impression, she went to the window and opened both sashes to let in the night air. Oh, how refreshing it was! She seated herself on the window-sill, which was only a couple of hands’ breadth from the floor, threw her left arm around the middle bar and listened to hear what was happening on the veranda. But she heard nothing. Deep stillness reigned, except that in the old elm there was a stirring and rustling, and any discomfort that might have lingered in her mind disappeared at once, as she gazed with ever-growing delight on the picture spread out before her. The water flowed gently, wood and meadow lay in the dim evening light, and the thin crescent of the new moon cast its light on the stream and showed the tremulous motion of the rippling waves.     35   
  “How beautiful,” said Lena, drawing deep breath, “And I am so happy,” she added.     36   
  She could hardly bear to leave the view. But at last she rose, placed a chair before the glass and began to let down her beautiful hair and braid it. While she was thus occupied. Botho came in.     37   
  “Lena, still up! I thought that I should have to wake you with a kiss.”     38   
  “You are too early for that, however late you came”.     39   
  And she rose and went to him. “My dearest Botho, How long you stayed away…”     40   
  “And your fever? And your little attack?”     41   
  “It has passed off and I have felt well again for the last half hour. And I have been waiting for you all that time.” And she led him over to the open window: “Only look. Would not the beauty of that view fill any poor human heart with longing?”     42   
  And she clung to him and just as she was closing her eyes, she looked up at him with an expression of rapture.

Chapter XIII   
     
BOTH were up early and the sun was still struggling with the morning mist as they came down stairs to take breakfast. A light early breeze was blowing, which the boatmen did not want to lose, and so, as our young couple were stepping out of doors, a whole flotilla of sailboats glided past on the Spree.      1   
  Lena was still in her morning dress. She took Botho’s arm and wandered along the bank with him to a place where the reeds and rushes grew tall. He looked at her tenderly. “Lena, I have never seen you look as you do to-day. I hardly know how to express it. I cannot find any other word; you look so happy.”      2   
  And that was true. Yes, she was happy, perfectly happy and saw the world in a rosy light. She was leaning on her lover’s arm and the hour was very precious to her. Was not that enough? And if this hour was the last, then let it be the last. Was it not a privilege to pass such a day, even if it were only once?      3   
  Thus all thoughts of care and sorrow vanished, which in spite of herself had oppressed her spirit, and she felt nothing but pride and joy and thankfulness. But she said nothing, for she was superstitious and did not dare to talk about her happiness, and it was only through a slight tremor of her arm that Botho knew that his words “I believe you are happy, Lena” had found their way to her innermost heart.      4   
  The host came and inquired courteously, though with some slight embarrassment, whether they had slept well.      5   
  “Admirably,” said Botho. “The herb tea, which your good wife recommended, did wonders and the crescent moon shone right in at our window, and the nightingales sang softly, so softly that we could barely hear them. Who would not sleep as if in paradise? I hope that no steamer with two hundred and forty guests has been announced for this afternoon. That indeed would drive us forth from paradise. You smile and are probably thinking, ‘Who can tell?’ and perhaps my own words have conjured up the devil, but he is not here yet. I see neither smokestack nor smoke, the Spree is still undisturbed, and even if all Berlin is on the way our breakfast at least we can enjoy in peace. Can we not? But where?”      6   
  “Wherever you order it.”      7   
  “Very well, then I think under the elm. The fine dining-room is only necessary when the sun is too hot out of doors. And it is not too hot yet and has not wholly burned away the mist above the woods.”      8   
  The host went to order the breakfast, but the young couple walked as far as a little promontory on their side of the stream, from which they could see the red roofs of a neighboring village and close to the village the sharp church steeple of Königs-Wusterhausen. By the water’s edge lay the trunk of a willow that had drifted down steam and lodged there. They sat down on this log and watched a fisherman and his wife who were cutting the tall reeds and throwing great bundles of them into their skiff. They enjoyed the pretty sight, and when they arrived at the tavern again, their breakfast was just being served. The breakfast was in the English style rather than the German: coffee and tea, with eggs and meat and even slices of toast in a silver rack.      9   
  “Just look, Lena. We must take breakfast here often. What do you think? It is heavenly. And look over towards the dockyard; they are already at work caulking the boats and the work follows a regular rhythm. Really, the rhythm of any such work is the best kind of music.”     10   
  Lena nodded, but she was only half listening, for again to-day her attention was attracted toward the pier. It was not, indeed, the boats that were moored there, and which had so aroused her interest yesterday, but a pretty maid, who was kneeling half way down the pier amongst her kettles and copperware. With a hearty pleasure in her work, which was expressed in every motion of her arms, she polished the cans, kettles, and saucepans, and whenever she had finished one, she let the water run over the highly polished vessel. Then she would hold it up, let it glisten a moment in the sun and then put it in a basket.     11   
  Lena was quite carried away by the picture, and pointed to the pretty girl, who seemed to love her work as if she could never do enough.     12   
  “Do you know, Botho, it is no mere chance that she is kneeling there. She is kneeling there for me and I feel plainly, that it is a sign and a token.”     13   
  “But what is the matter with you, Lena? You look so different, you have grown quite pale all of a sudden.”     14   
  “Oh nothing.”     15   
  “Nothing? And yet your eyes are glistening as if you were nearer to tears than to laughter. You certainly must have seen copper kettles before and a cook polishing them. It seems almost as if you envied the girl kneeling there and working hard enough for three women.”     16   
  The appearance of the host interrupted the conversation at this point and Lena recovered her quiet bearing and soon her cheerfulness also. Then she went upstairs to change her dress.     17   
  When she returned she found that a programme proposed by the host had been unconditionally accepted by Botho: the young people were to take a sailboat as far as the next village, Nieder Löme, which was charmingly situated on the Wendisch Spree. From this village they were to walk as far as Königs-Wusterhausen, visit the park and the castle, and then return in the same way. This excursion would take half a day. The manner of passing the afternoon could be arranged later.     18   
  Lena was pleased with the plan and a couple of wraps were just being put in the boat, which had been hastily gotten ready, when voices and hearty laughter were heard from the garden—a sound which seemed to indicate visitors the probability that their solitude would be disturbed.     19   
  “Ah, members of the yacht and rowing club,” said Botho. “The Lord be praised, we shall escape them, Lena. Let us hurry.”     20   
  And they both started off to reach the boat as quickly as possible. But before they could reach the pier they saw that they were already surrounded and caught. The guests were not only Botho’s comrades, but his most intimate friends, Pitt, Serge, and Balafré. All three had ladies with them.     21   
  “Ah, les beaux esprits se rencontrent,” said Balafré in a rather wild mood, which quickly changed to a more conventional manner, as he observed that he was being watched by the host and hostess from the threshold. “How fortunate we are to meet here. Allow me, Gaston, to present our ladies to you: Queen Isabeau, Fräulein Johanna, Fräulein Margot.”     22   
  Botho saw what sort of names were the order of the day, and adapting himself quickly, he replied, indicating Lena with a little gesture and introducing her: Mademoiselle Agnes Sorel.”     23   
  All the three men bowed civilly, even to all appearances respectfully, while the two daughters of Thibaut d’Arc made a very slight curtsey, and Queen Isabeau, who was at least fifteen years older, offered a more friendly greeting to Agnes Sorel, who was not only a stranger to her, but apparently embarrassed.     24   
  The whole affair was a disturbance, perhaps even an intentional disturbance, but the more successfully the plan worked out, the more needful did it seem to keep a bold front at a losing game. And in this Botho was entirely successful. He asked one question after another, and thus found out that the little group had taken one of the small steamers very early and had left the boat at Schmöckwitz, and from there had come to Zeuthen on a sailboat. From Zeuthen they had walked, since it took scarcely twenty minutes; it had been charming: old trees, green fields and red roofs.     25   
  While the entire group of new-comers, but especially Queen Isabeau, who was almost more distinguished for her talkativeness than for her stout figure, were narrating these things, they had by chance strolled up to the veranda, where they sat down at one of the long tables.     26   
  “Charming,” said Serge. “Large, free and open and yet so secluded. And the meadow over there seems just made for a moonlight promenade.”     27   
  “Yes,” added Balafré, “a moonlight promenade. That is all very fine. But it is now barely ten o’clock, and before we can have a moonlight promenade we have about twelve hours to dispose of. I propose a boating trip.”     28   
  “No,” said Isabeau, “a boating trip will not do; we have already had more than enough of that to-day. First the steamer and then the sailboat and now another boat, would be too much. I am against it. Besides I never can see the good of all this paddling: we might just as well fish or catch some little creatures with our hands and amuse ourselves with the poor little beasts. No, there will be no more paddling to-day. I must earnestly beg you.”     29   
  The men, to whom these words were addressed, were evidently amused at the desires of the Queen Mother, and immediately made other proposals, which, however, met with the same fate. Isabeau rejected everything; and at last, when the others, half in jest and half in earnest, began to disapprove of her conduct, she merely begged to be left in peace. “Gentlemen,” said she, “Patience. I beg you to give me a chance to speak for at least a moment.” This request was followed by ironical applause, for she had done all the talking thus far. But she went on quite unconcernedly: “Gentlemen, I beg you, teach me to understand men. What is an excursion into the country? It is taking breakfast and playing cards. Isn’t that so?”     30   
  “Isabeau is always right,”laughed Balafré giving her a slap on the shoulder. “We will play cards. This is a capital place for it; I almost think that everyone must win here. And the ladies can go to walk in the meantime or perhaps take a forenoon nap. That will do them the most good, and an hour and a half will be time enough. And at twelve o’clock we will meet again. And the menu shall be according to the judgment of our Queen. Yes, Queen, life is still sweet. To be sure that is from ‘Don Carlos.’ But must everything be quoted from the ‘Maid of Orleans’?”     31   
  That shot struck home and the two younger girls giggled, although they had scarcely understood the innuendo. But Isabeau who had grown up amongst conversations that were always interspersed with such slightly hinted sarcasms, remained perfectly calm and said, turning to the three other women: “Ladies, if I may beg you, we are now abandoned and have two hours to ourselves. For that matter, things might be worse.”     32   
     
  Thereupon they rose and went into the house, where the Queen went to the kitchen, and after greeting those present in a friendly but superior manner, she asked for the host. The latter was not in the house, so the young woman offered to go and call him in from the garden, but Isabeau would not hear of it. She would go herself, and she actually went, still followed by her cortège of three (Balafré called them the hen and chickens). She went into the garden, where she found the host arranging the new asparagus beds. Close by there was an old-fashioned greenhouse, very low in front, with big, sloping windows, and a somewhat broken-down wall on which Lena and the daughters of Thibaut d’Arc sat, while Isabeau was arranging her business.     33   
  “We have come,” said she, “to speak with you about the luncheon. What can we have?”     34   
  “Everything? you are pleased to order.”     35   
  “Everything? That is a great deal, almost too much. Now I should like eels. Only not like this, but like this.” And as she spoke she pointed first to a ring on her finger and then to her broad thick bracelet.     36   
  “I am very sorry, ladies,” answered the host. “We have no eels. Nor any kind of fish; I cannot serve you with fish, it is an exception. Yesterday we had tench and dill, but it came from Berlin. If I want a fish, I have to go to the Cologne fish market for it.”     37   
  “What a pity! We could have brought one with us. But what have you then?”     38   
  “A saddle of venison.”     39   
  “H’m, that sounds rather well. And before that some vegetables for a salad. It is too late or almost too late for asparagus. But I see you still have some young beans there. And here in the hot bed there is surely something to be found, a couple of small cucumbers or some lettuce. And then a sweet dish. Something with whipped cream. I do not care so much for it myself, but men, who always behave as if they did not like such things, are always wanting sweets. This will make three or four courses, I think. And then bread and butter and cheese.”     40   
  “And at what time do you wish the luncheon?”     41   
  “Well, I think quite soon, or at least as soon as possible. Is that right? We are hungry and half an hour is long enough to roast the saddle of venison. So let us say at about twelve. And if I may ask, we will have punch, a bottle of Rhine wine, three of Moselle and three of Champagne. But good brands. You must not think that it will be wasted. I am familiar with wines, and can tell by the taste whether it is Möt or Mumm. But you will come out all right; you inspire me with confidence. By the way, can we not go from your garden directly into the wood? I hate every unnecessary step. And perhaps we may find some mushrooms. That would be heavenly. They would go well with the saddle of venison; mushrooms never spoil anything.” The host not only answered the question in the affirmative, but escorted the ladies as far as the garden gate, from which it was only a couple of steps to the edge of the wood. Only a public road ran between. As soon as one had crossed the road, one was in the shady woods, and Isabeau, who suffered greatly from the increasing heat, thought herself fortunate in having avoided the rather long detour over a strip of treeless grass land. She played the fine lady, but her parasol, which she hung to her girdle, was decorated with a big grease spot. She took Lena’s arm, while the two ladies followed. Isabeau appeared to be in the best humour and said, glancing back, to Margot and Johanna: “We must have a goal. It is quite dreadful to see only woods and then more woods. What do you think, Johanna?”     42   
  Johanna was the taller of the two d’Arcs, and was very pretty, but somewhat pale and dressed with studied simplicity. Serge liked that. Her gloves fitted wonderfully, and one might have taken her for a lady if she had not used her teeth to button one of her glove buttons which had sprung out.     43   
  “What do you think, Johanna?” the Queen repeated her question.     44   
  “Well, then, I propose that we should go back to the village from which we came. It was called Zeuthen, and looked so romantic and so melancholy, and the road between there and here was so beautiful. And it must be just as beautiful or more so going back in the other direction. And on the right hand, that is to say, on the left going from here, was a churchyard with crosses. And there was a very large marble one.”     45   
  “Yes, dear Johanna, that is very well, but what good would it do us? We have seen the whole road. Or do you want to see the churchyard.…”     46   
  “Of course I do. I have my own feelings, especially on a day like this. And it is always good to be reminded that one must die. And when the elder bushes are in bloom …”     47   
  “But, Johanna, the elders are no longer in bloom; the acacia is about all, and that already pods. My goodness, if you are so wild about churchyards, you can see the one in the Oranienstrasse every day. Zeuthen and the churchyard. what nonsense! We had rather stay right here and see nothing at all. Come, little one, give me your arm again.”     48   
  The little one, who by the way was not little, was Lena. She obeyed. But as they walked on again, the Queen continued in a confidential tone: “Oh that Johanna, one really cannot go about with her; she has not a good reputation, and she is a goose. Ah, child, you would not believe what kind of folks there are going about now; Oh well, she has a fine figure and is particular about her gloves. But she might better be particular about some other things. And if you will notice, it is always such as she who talk continually about the churchyard and dying. And now you ought to see her by and by. So long as things are all right, they are all right. But when the punch bowl comes and is emptied and comes in again, then she screeches and screams. No idea of propriety. But where should it come from? She was always amongst the commonest people, out on the Chaussée towards Tegel, where no one ever goes and only the artillery passes by. And artillery … Oh well.… You would hardly believe how different all that is. And now Serge has taken her up and is trying to make something out of her. My goodness, it can’t be done, or at least not all of a sudden; good work takes time. But here are some strawberries still. How nice! Come, little one, let us pick some (if it were not for this accursed stooping), and if we find a real big one we will take it back with us. I will put it in his mouth and he will be pleased. For I want to tell you that he is just like a child and he is just the very best man.”     49   
  Lena, who saw that Balafré was referred to, asked a question or two, and also asked once more why the men had those peculiar names? She had already asked about it, but had never learned anything worth speaking of.     50   
  “Good Lord,” said the Queen, “there would have to be something like that and no one should take any notice; and any way it is all put on. For in the first place no one concerns himself about it, and even if anyone did, why, it is so all same. And why not? What harm does it do? They have nothing to cast up at one another, and each one is just like the rest.”     51   
  Lena looked straight before her and kept silence.     52   
  “And really, child, you will find it out for yourself, really all this is simply tiresome. For a while it goes well enough, and I have nothing to say against it, and I will not deny it myself. But time brings weariness. Ever since you are fifteen and not even confirmed. Truly, the sooner one gets out of all this the better. Then I shall buy me a distillery (for I get plenty of money), and I already know where; and then I shall marry a widower and I already know whom. And he is willing too. For I must tell you I like order and propriety and bringing up children decently, and whether they are his or mine, it is all the same to me.… And how is it really with you?”     53   
  Lena did not say a word.     54   
  “Heavens, child, you are changing color; perhaps something in her (she pointed to her heart) is involved and you are doing everything for the sake of love? Ah, child, that is bad, then there is sure to be some sudden smash.”     55   
  Johanna followed with Margot. They purposely kept at some little distance and plucked twigs of birch, as if they meant to make a wreath of them. “How do you like her?” said Margot. “I mean Gaston’s …”     56   
  “Like her? Not at all. The very idea that such girls should take a hand in the game and come to be the fashion! Just see how her gloves fit. And her hat doesn’t amount to much. He ought not to let her go like that. And she must be stupid too, for she has not a word to say.”     57   
  “No,” said Margot, “she isn’t stupid; it is only that she has not struck her gait yet. And it is rather clever in her to make up to our stout friend so promptly.”     58   
  “Oh, our stout friend. Get out with her. She thinks she is the whole show. But she is nothing at all. I don’t believe in backbiting, but she is false, false as the wood of the gallows.”     59   
  “No, Johanna, she is not really false. And she has pulled you out of a hole more than once. You know what I mean.”     60   
  “Good gracious, why did she do it? Because she was stuck in the same hole herself, and because she always gives herself airs and thinks she is so important. Anyone as stout as that is never good.”     61   
  “Lord, Johanna, how you do talk. It is just the other way around, stout people are always good.”     62   
  “Well, have it your own way. But you cannot deny that she is a comical figure to look at. Just see how she waddles; like a fat duck. And always buttoned up to her chin because otherwise she would not look fit to be seen among decent people. And, Margot, I will not give way on that point, a slender figure is really the principal thing. We are not Turks, you know. And why wouldn’t she go with us to the churchyard? Because she is afraid. Heaven forbid, she isn’t thinking of any such thing, it’s because she’s buttoned up so tight and she can’t stand the heat. And yet it isn’t really so terribly hot to-day.”     63   
     
  So the conversations went, until the two couples came together again and seated themselves on a moss-grown bank.     64   
  Isabeau kept looking at her watch; it seemed as if the hands would never move.     65   
  But when it was half past eleven, she said: “Now, my friends, it is time; I think we have had enough of nature and may quite properly pass on to something else. We have never had a bite to eat since early this morning at about seven. For those ham sandwiches at Grunauer do not count.… But the Lord be praised, self-denial brings its own reward, as Balafré says. and hunger is the best cook. Come, ladies, the saddle of venison is beginning to be more important than anything else. Don’t you think so, Johanna?”     66   
  The latter shrugged her shoulders, and sought to turn aside the suspicion that any such things as venison and punch could ever matter to her.     67   
  But Isabeau laughed. “Well, we shall see, Johanna. Of course the Zeuthner churchyard would have been more enjoyable. But one must take what one can get.”     68   
  And hereupon they all started to return from the woods through the garden, where a pair of yellow butterflies were fluttering together, and from the garden to the front of the house where they were to take luncheon.     69   
  As they were passing the dining-room Isabeau saw the host busily repairing the damage where a bottle of Moselle had been spilt.     70   
  “What a pity,” said she, “that I had to see just that. Fate really might have afforded me a more pleasing sight. And why must it be Moselle?”

Chapter XIV   
     
IN spite of all Isabeau’s efforts no genuine cheerfulness would return to the group since the walk. But the worst of it was, at least for Botho and Lena, that they could not regain any real cheerfulness even after they had bidden good-bye to Botho’s comrades and their ladies, and were beginning their homeward journey quite alone in a coupé that they had engaged. An hour later they had arrived, somewhat depressed, at the dimly lighted depot at Görlitz, and here, as they were getting out, Lena had at once asked quite urgently to be allowed to go the rest of the way through the city alone. “She was tired and out of sorts,” she said, “and that was not good.” But Botho would not be turned aside from what he considered to be his duty as an escort, and so the two together had traversed in a rickety old cab the long, long road by the canal, constantly trying to keep up a conversation about the excursion and “how lovely it had been”—a terribly forced conversation, which had made Botho feel only too plainly how right Lena’s feeling had been, when in an almost imploring tone she had begged him not to escort her further. Yes, the excursion to “Hankel’s Ablage” from which they had expected so much, and which had actually begun so charmingly and happily, had ended only in a mingling of ill humor, weariness and discontent; and only at the last moment, when Botho, with a certain felling of being to blame, had bidden Lena a friendly and affectionate “good night,” did she run to him, take his hand and kiss him with almost passionate impetuosity: “Ah, Botho, things were not as they should have been to-day, and yet no one was to blame … not even the others.”      1   
  “Never mind, Lena.”      2   
  “No, no. It was nobody’s fault, that is the truth, and it cannot be altered. But the worst of it is, that it is true. If anyone is to blame, he can ask pardon and so make all good again. But that is no help to us. And then too, there is nothing to forgive.”      3   
  “Lena …”      4   
  “You must listen for a moment. Oh, my dearest Botho, you are trying to hide it from me, but the end is coming. And quickly too, I know it.”      5   
  “How can you say so!”      6   
  “To be sure, I only dreamed it,” Lena went on. “But why did I dream it? Because all day long it had been in my mind. My dream was only what my heart told me. And what I wanted to tell you, Botho, and the reason why I ran after you a few steps was, that what I said last night holds good. That I could pass this summer with you was a joy to me, and always will be, even if I must be unhappy from this day forth.”      7   
  “Lena, Lena, do not say that …”      8   
  “You feel yourself that I am right; only your kind heart struggles against it and will not admit the truth. But I know it: yesterday, as we were walking across the meadow, chattering together, and I picked you the bunch of flowers, it was our last joy and our last beautiful hour.”      9   
     
  With this interview the day had ended, and now it was the following morning, and the summer sunshine was streaming brightly into Botho’s room. Both windows stood open and the sparrows were quarreling in the chestnut tree outside. Botho himself was leaning back in a rocking-chair, smoking a meerschaum pipe and striking with his handkerchief now and then at a big blue-bottle fly that came in at one window as fast as he went out of the other, to buzz persistently around Botho.     10   
  “If I could only get rid of the creature. I should enjoy tormenting it. These big flies are always bearers of bad news, and then they are as spitefully persistent as if they took pleasure in the trouble that they announce.” And he struck at the fly once more. “Gone again. It is no use. Resignation then is the only help. On the whole, submission is the best. The Turks are the cleverest people.”     11   
  While Botho was thus soliloquising, the shutting of the little wicket gate led him to look into the garden where he saw the letter carrier who had just entered and with a slight military salute and a “Good morning, Herr Baron” first handed him a paper and then a letter through the low window. Botho threw the paper aside, and looked at the letter, on which he easily recognised his mother’s small, close, but still very legible handwriting. “I thought as much … I know already, before I have read it. Poor Lena.”     12   
  And he opened the letter and read:
           
“SCHLOSS ZEHDEN, JUNE 29, 1875.”
“MY DEAR BOTHO:   
  “The apprehension of which I told you in my last letter, has now proved well founded: Rothmüller in Arnswalde has demanded his money on October I and only added ‘Because of our old friendship’ that he would wait until New Year, if it would cause me any embarrassment. ‘For he knew very well what he owed to the memory of the departed Baron.’ The addition of this expression, however well it may have been meant, was doubly humiliating to me; it showed such a mingling of pretentious consideration, which never makes a pleasing impression, least of all from such a source. You can perhaps understand the care and discomfort that this letter gave me. Uncle Kurt Anton would help me, as he has already done on former occasions. He loves me, and you best of all, but always to claim his benevolence again, is somewhat oppressive and all the more so because he lays the blame for our continual difficulties on our whole family, but especially on us two. In spite of my honest efforts at good management, I am not thrifty and economical enough for him, in which opinion he may be right, and you are not practical and sensible enough for him, in which opinion also he may be quite correct. Well, Botho, that is how things stand. My brother is a man of very fine feeling in regard to justice and reason, and of a perfectly remarkable generosity in money matters, which cannot be said of many of our nobility. For our good Mark of Brandenburg is a province characterized by economy and even, when help is needed, by nervous anxiety. But however kind my brother is, he has his moods and his obstinacy, and finding himself continually crossed in his wishes has for some time past put him seriously out of humor. He told me, the last time I took occasion to mention the demand for the payment of our debt which was then threatening again: ‘I am very glad to be of service, sister, as you know, but I frankly confess that to be constantly obliged to help, when one could help oneself at any minute, if only one had a little more foresight and a little less self-will, makes great claims on the side of my character which was never the strongest: I mean on my indulgence.…’ You know, Botho, to what these words of his referred, and I ask you to take them to heart to-day, just as your Uncle Kurt Anton wished me to take them to heart then. There is nothing which causes you more cold shivers, as I conclude from your own words and letters, than sentimentality, and yet I fear that you are yourself more deeply involved in something of the kind than you are willing to confess, perhaps than you know yourself. I will say no more.”   
  13   
  Rienäcker laid down the letter and walked up and down the room, while he half mechanically exchanged the meerschaum for a cigarette. Then he picked up the letter again and read on:
             “Yes, Botho, you have the future of all of us in your hands, and it is for you to decide whether this feeling of constant dependence shall continue or cease. You have our future in your hands, I say, but I must indeed add, only for a short time yet, in any case not very much longer. Uncle Kurt Anton spoke with me about this also, especially in connection with Katherine’s Mamma, Frau Sellenthin, who, when he was last in Rothenmoor, expressed herself not only very decidedly but with some access of irritation, as to this matter which interested her so keenly. Did the Rienäcker family perhaps believe that an ever-diminishing property increased constantly in value, after the manner of the Sibylline books? (Where she got the comparison, I do not know.) Katherine would soon be twenty two, had had enough social experience to form her manners, and with the addition of an inheritance from her Aunt Kielmannsegge would control a property whose income would not fall far behind that of the Rienäckers’ forest land and the eel pond together. It was not fitting to keep such young girls waiting, especially with such coolness and placidity. If Herr von Rienäcker chose to drop all that had formerly been planned and discussed by the family and to regard agreements that had been made as mere child’s play, she had nothing to say against it. Herr von Rienäcker would be free from the moment when he wished to be free. But if, on the contrary, he did not intend to make use of this unconditional freedom to withdraw, it was time to make his intentions known. She did not wish her daughter to be talked about.   
  “You will not find it difficult to see from the tone of these words, that it is absolutely necessary to come to a decision and to act. You know what my wishes are. But my wishes ought not to bind you. Act as your own intelligence dictates, decide one way or the other, only act. A withdrawal is more honorable than further procrastination. If you delay longer, we shall lose not only the bride, but the whole Sellenthin house as well, and what is worst of all, the friendly and helpful disposition of your Uncle also. My thoughts are with you, and I wish that they might guide you. I repeat, this is the way to happiness for you and for us all. And now I remain, your loving Mother,   
“JOSEPHINE VON R.”
  14   
  When he had read the letter, Botho was much excited. It was just as the letter said, and further delay was no longer possible. The Rienäcker property was not in good condition and there were embarrassments which he did not feel the power to clear away through his own energy and ability. “Who am I? An average man from the so-called upper circle of society. And what can I do? I can ride and train a horse, carve a capon and play cards. That is all and therefore I have the choice between a trick rider, and a head butler and a croupier. At the most I might add a soldier, if I am willing to join a foreign legion. And then Lena could go with me as daughter of the regiment. I can see her now with a short skirt and high-heeled shoes and a knapsack on her back.”     15   
  He went on speaking in this tone, and actually enjoyed saying bitter things to himself. Finally, however, he rang and ordered his horse, because he meant to go riding. And it was not long before his beautiful chestnut, a present from his uncle and the envy of his comrades, was waiting outside. He sprang into the saddle, gave the stable boy some orders and rode to the Moabiter Bridge, after crossing which, he turned into a broad road that led over fens and fields to the Jungfern Haide. Here he let his horse change from a trot to a walk, and while he had thus far pursued all sorts of dim thoughts, he now began to crossexamine himself more sharply every moment. “What is it then that hinders me from taking the step that everyone expects of me? Do I mean to marry Lena? No. Have I promised her that I would? No. Does she expect it? No. Or would the parting be any easier if I should postpone it? No. Still no, again and again. And yet I delay and hesitate to do the one thing which positively must be done. And why do I delay? What is the cause of this vacillating and postponing? Foolish question. Because I love her.”     16   
  His soliloquy was here interrupted by the sound of gun shots from the Tegler shooting range, and only when he had once more quieted his restive horse did he take up again the thread of his thoughts and repeat: “Because I love her! Yes. And why should I be ashamed of this affection? Feeling reigns over all, and the fact that one loves also gives one the right to love, no matter how much the world may shake its head or talk about riddles. For that matter it is no riddle, and even if it were I can solve it. Every man according to his own nature is dependent upon certain little things, sometimes very, very little things, which in spite of being so small, mean life for him or the best there is in life. And for me the best there is in life is simplicity, truth, naturalness. Lena has all this, that is how she won me, and there lies the magic from which it now seems so difficult to free myself.”     17   
  Just now his horse shied and he saw a hare that had been driven out of a strip of meadow land, and was darting right in front of him towards the Jungfern Haide. He watched the creature curiously and only resumed his reflections hen the fugitive had disappeared among the trunks of the trees. “And was what I wanted,” he went on, “anything so foolish and impossible? No. It isn’t in me to challenge the world and declare open war against its judgments; besides, I do not believe in such quixotism. All that I wanted was a still, secluded happiness, a happiness which I expected would sooner or later win the approval of society, because I should have spared it the shock of defiance. Such was my dream such were my hopes and my thoughts. And now shall I abandon this happiness and exchange it for another that is no happiness to me? I am wholly indifferent to a salon, and I feel a repulsion for all that is untrue, high-flown, dressed up or disguised. Chic, tournure, savoir faire—are all just as ugly to me as their foreign names.”     18   
  At this point in Botho’s reflections, the horse, whose reins had been lying loose for the past quarter of an hour, turned as if of its own accord into a side path, which led first to a bit of farm land and immediately behind this to a grass plot surrounded by undergrowth and a few oak trees. Here, in the shade of an old tree, stood a low, solid cross, and as he rode up to have a better look at the cross, he read:“Ludwig v. Hinckeldey, died March 10, 1856.” What an impression this made upon him! He had known that the cross was somewhere in this region, but had never been exactly here before, and he now regarded it as a sign, that his horse left to his own devices had brought him to this very spot.     19   
  Hinckeldey! It was now nearly twenty years since the death of this man, whose power was then almost absolute; and everything that had been said in his parents’ house when the news came, now came back vividly to Botho’s mind. And more clearly than anything else he remembered one story. One of the citizens, who was especially trusted in other ways as an adviser by his chief had warned and admonished him against duels in general, and especially against such a duel under such circumstances, as a folly and a crime. But his chief, suddenly taking his stand as a nobleman on this occasion, had answered brusquely and haughtily: “Nöner, you do not understand anything about such matters.” And an hour later he was dead. And why? For the sake of a conception of what was required of a nobleman, for a whim of a class of society, which proved more powerful than reason, even more powerful than the law to uphold and protect, which was especially his duty. “Instructive.” And what in particular have I to learn from this story? What does this monument preach to me? In any case, one thing, that our ancestry determines our deeds. He who obeys this principle may go to ruin, but he goes to ruin in a better way than he who disobeys it.     20   
  While he was thinking thus, he turned his horse around and rode across the field towards a great factory, a rolling mill or a machine shop, from the many chimneys of which flames and smoke were rising. it was noon, and part of the workmen were sitting outside in the shade, eating their dinner. The women, who had brought them their food, stood near by chatting, several with babies in their arms, laughing amongst themselves whenever a playful or sarcastic remark was made. Rienäcker, who quite rightly believed that he appreciated naturalness, was delighted this picture, and with a sort of envy he gazed at the group of happy people. “Work and daily bread and an orderly life. When our people from the Mark marry, they have nothing to say about love and passion, they merely say: ‘I need to lead an orderly life.’ And that is a fine trait in the life of our people and not at all prosaic. For order is a great thing, and sometimes it is worth everything. And now I must ask myself has my life been ‘orderly’? No. Order means marriage.” In this strain he talked to himself for a while longer and then he saw Lena standing before him once more, but she did not look at him reproachfully or complainingly, but rather the reverse, as if she were in friendly agreement with him.     21   
  “Yes, my dear Lena, you too believe in work and orderly living, and you will understand and not make it hard for me … but it is hard all the same … for you and for me.”     22   
  He put his horse to the trot again and kept along by the Spree for a little while more. Then, however, he turned aside into a bridle path, which led past the tents which lay in the noonday silence, then past the Wrangel Spring and soon afterwards to his own door.

Chapter XV   
     
BOTHO wanted to go to Lena at once, and when he felt that he had not strength enough for that, he wanted at least to write. But even that was too much for him. “I cannot do it, not to-day.” And so he let the day go by and waited until the next morning. Then he wrote very briefly.
           “DEAR LENA:   
  “Things are turning out, just as you told me the day before yesterday. We must part. And we must part forever. I have had letters from home which compel me; it must be, and since it must be, let it be quickly.… Ah, I wish these days lay behind us. I will say no more, not even how my heart aches.… It was a beautiful time, though so brief, and I shall never forget anything that has been. Towards nine I shall come to you, not earlier, for it must not last long. Auf Wiedersehen! only this once more, auf Wiedersehen!   
Your own,
“B. v. R.”
   1   
  And so he came. Lena was standing at the gate and received him as usual; not the slightest trace of reproach or even of painful renunciation was to be seen in her face. She took his arm and so they walked along the front garden path.      2   
  “It is right that you have come … I am happy because you are here. And you must be happy too.”      3   
  With these words they reached the house, and Botho started to go into the large front room as usual. But Lena led him further along and said: “No. Frau Dörr is in there.”      4   
  “And is she still angry with us?”      5   
  “Oh, no. I comforted her. But what do we want with her to-day? Come, it is such a beautiful evening and we want to be alone.”      6   
  Botho agreed, and so they went along the passage and across the yard to the garden. Sultan did not stir and only blinked at the two, as they followed the long middle path and then went over to the bench that stood between the raspberry bushes.      7   
  They sat down on the bench. It was very still, only they could hear a chirping from the fields beyond and the moon was high above them.      8   
  She leaned against him and said quietly and affectionately: “And so this is the last time that I shall hold your hand in mine?”      9   
  “Yes, Lena. Can you forgive me?”     10   
  “How can you always ask that? What have I to forgive?”     11   
  “That I make your heart ache.”     12   
  “Yes, it aches. That is true.”     13   
  And she was silent again and looked up at the dim stars that were appearing in the sky.     14   
  “What are you thinking of, Lena?”     15   
  “How beautiful it would be if I were up there.”     16   
  “Do not speak so. You ought not to wish your life to be over; it is only a step from such a wish …”     17   
  She smiled. “No, not that. I am not like the girl who ran and threw herself into the well, because her sweetheart danced with some one else. Do you remember when you told me about that?”     18   
  “But what do you mean then? It does not seem like you to say such a thing, just for the sake of talking.”     19   
  “No, I meant it seriously. And really” (she pointed up to the sky), “I should be glad to be there. Then I should be at peace. But I can wait.… And now come, let us walk out in the fields. I brought no wrap and I find it cold sitting still.”     20   
  And so they followed the same path through the fields that had led them the other time as far as the first houses of Wilmersdorf. The tower was plainly visible under the bright starry sky while a thin mist was drifting over the meadow land.     21   
  “Do you remember,” said Botho, “how we took this same walk with Frau Dörr?”     22   
  She nodded. “That is why I proposed to come here; I was not chilly, or scarcely at all. Ah, that was such a beautiful day and I have never been so gay and happy, either before or afterwards. Even now my heart laughs, when I think how we walked along singing, ‘Do you remember.’ Yes, memory means so much—it means everything. And I have that and I can keep it and nothing can ever take it away from me. And I can feel plainly how it will lighten my heart.”     23   
  He embraced her. “You are so good.”     24   
  But Lena went on quietly: “And I will not let it pass without telling you all about it, how it is that my heart is so light. Really it is just the same thing that I told you before, the day before yesterday, when we were in the country on our half-spoiled excursion, and afterwards when we were saying good-bye. I always saw this coming, even from the beginning, and nothing has happened but what had to happen. If one has had a beautiful dream, one should thank the Lord for it, and not lament that the dream ends and reality begins again. It is hard now, but all will be forgotten or will seem pleasant again. And some day you will be happy again and perhaps I shall too.”     25   
  “Do you believe so? And if not? What then?”     26   
  “Then we must live without happiness.”     27   
  “Ah, Lena, you say that as if happiness were nothing. But it is something, and that is what distresses me, and it seems to me as if I had done you an injustice.”     28   
  “I absolve you from that. You have done me no injustice, you did not lead me astray and you made me no promise. Everything was my own free choice. I loved you with all my heart. That was my fate, and if it was a sin, then it was my sin, and more than that, a sin in which I rejoice with all my heart, as I have told you again and again, because it was my joy. If I must pay for it, I will pay gladly. You have not injured, hurt, or damaged anything, unless perhaps what men call propriety and good morals. Shall I distress myself about that? No. Everything will come right again, and that too. And now come, let us turn back. See how the mist is rising; I think Frau Dörr must have gone home by this time and we shall find my good old mother alone. She knows everything, and all day long she has only said the one same thing.”     29   
  “And that was?”     30   
  “That all was for the best.”     31   
  Frau Nimptsch was alone, as Botho and Lena came in. The room was still and dusky and only the firelight flickered amongst the great shadows that lay across the room. The goldfinch was already asleep in his cage, and there was not a sound but now and then the hissing of the boiling water.     32   
  “Good evening, Mutterchen,” said Botho.     33   
  The old woman returned his greeting and was going to rise from her footstool to draw up the big armchair. But Botho would not allow it and said: “No, Mutterchen, I will sit in my old place.”     34   
  And he pushed the wooden stool up to the fire.     35   
  There was a short pause; but soon he began again: “I have come to-day to bid good-bye and to thank you for all the loving-kindness that I have enjoyed here so long. Yes, I thank you from my heart. I was so happy and always loved to be here. But now I must leave you, and now I can only say that perhaps it is better so.”     36   
  The old woman did not speak but nodded as if in agreement.     37   
  “But I shall not be gone out of the world,” Botho went on, “and I shall not forget you. And now give me your hand. That is right. And now good-night.”     38   
  Hereupon he rose quickly and walked to the door, while Lena clung to his arm. And so they walked as far as the garden gate, without another word being spoken. But then Lena said: “Quick now, Botho. My strength will not hold out any longer; these two days have really been too much. Farewell, my dearest, and may you be as happy as you deserve to be, and as happy as you have made me. Then you will be happy. And we will not talk about the rest, it is not worth while. There, there.”     39   
  And she kissed him again and again and then closed the gate. As he stood on the other side of the street, he seemed, when he saw Lena, as if he must turn back for one more word, for one more kiss. But she made an urgent gesture of refusal. And so he walked on down the street, while she, leaning on the gatepost, with her head supported on her arm, gazed after him with wide eyes.     40   
  So she stood for a long time until his footsteps had died away in the silence of the night.     41

   
Chapter XVI   
     
THE WEDDING had taken place about the middle of September on the Sellenthins’ estate, Rothenmoor. Uncle Osten, who was usually no speaker, had offered his good wishes to the bridal pair in what was undoubtedly the longest toast of his life. And on the next day the following notice appeared among other family items in the “Kreuzzeitung”: “Botho Freiherr von Rienäcker, First Lieutenant in the Imperial Regiment of Cuirassiers, and Katherine Freifrau von Rienäcker, née Sellenthin have the honor to announce their marriage which took place yesterday.” Naturally the “Kreuzzeitung” was not the paper which usually found its way to the Dörrs’ dwelling nor to the other house in their garden, but the very next morning there came a letter addressed to Fräulein Magdalena Nimptsch, containing nothing but a newspaper clipping containing the marriage notice. Lena was startled, but regained her self-control more quickly than the sender, apparently some envious acquaintance, might have anticipated. That the clipping came from such a source was easily seen from the addition of “Hochwohlgeboren” (well born). But this gratuitous freak of sarcasm, which was intended to double her pain, stood Lena in good stead and diminished the bitter feeling that the news would otherwise have caused her.      1   
     
  Botho and Katherine von Rienäcker started for Dresden the very day of the wedding, after both had happily withstood the enticement of a tour of visits among the Neumark relatives. And actually they had no reason to repent their choice, certainly Botho had not, for every day he congratulated himself not only upon his stay in Dresden, but still more upon the possession of a young wife who seemed to know nothing of caprice or ill humor. She actually laughed all day long, and her nature was as bright and clear as her complexion. She was delighted with everything and saw the cheerful side of everything. At their hotel there was a waiter with a forelock that looked like the crest of a breaking wave, and this waiter with his coiffure was a source of constant amusement to her, so much so, that although she was not usually very witty, she simply outdid herself in images and comparisons. Botho also was amused and laughed heartily, until suddenly a shade of doubt and even of discomfort began to mingle with his laughter. That is, he began to notice that whatever happened or came in sight, she took notice only of the trivial and the comical side of it. And at the close of a pleasant fortnight spent in Dresden, as the couple were beginning their homeward journey to Berlin, a short conversation fully enlightened him as to this side of his wife’s character. They had a coupé to themselves and as they looked back from the bridge over the Elbe to take farewell of old Dresden and the tower of the Frauenkirche, Botho said, as he took her hand: “And now tell me, Katherine, what was really the most beautiful thing here in Dresden?”      2   
  “Guess.”      3   
  “But that is difficult, for you have your own tastes, and I know you do not care for church music and Holbein’s Madonnas.…”      4   
  “No. You are right there. And since my lord and master is so serious I will not keep him waiting and tormenting himself any longer. There were three things that I was delighted with: first, the confectioner’s shop at the Old Market and the Scheffelgassen corner, with those wonderful pasties and liqueurs. Just to sit there.…”      5   
  “But, Katherine, one could not sit at all, one could scarcely stand, and it seemed as if one had to get every mouthful by force.”      6   
  “That was just it. That was the very reason, my dear. Whatever one must win by force …”      7   
  And she turned away roguishly pretending to pout, until he kissed her ardently.      8   
  “I see,” she laughed, “that you really agree with me and as a reward I will tell you the second and third too. The second thing was the summer theater in the suburbs, where we saw ‘Monsieur Hercules’ and Knaak drummed the Tannhäuser March on a rickety old whist table. I never saw anything so comical in all my life, and I don’t believe you ever did either. It was really too funny.… And the third … was ‘Bacchus Riding on the He-goat’ in the Art Museum and the ‘Dog Scratching Himself’ by Peter Vischer.”      9   
  “I thought it was something like that; and when Uncle Osten hears about it he will think you are quite right and he will be fonder of you than ever and will say still oftener than before, ‘I tell you, Botho, Katherine …”     10   
  “And isn’t he right?”     11   
  “Why surely he is.”     12   
  And with these words their conversation ceased for some minutes, leaving in Botho’s mind, however tenderly he gazed upon his young bride, a somewhat painful impression. The young woman herself had meanwhile no suspicion of what was taking place in her husband’s mind, and only said: “I am tired, Botho. So many pictures. It comes over me afterwards.… But [the train was just stopping] what is the noise and excitement outside?”     13   
  “That is some Dresden pleasure resort, Kötchenbroda, I think.”     14   
  “Kötchenbroda? How comical.”     15   
  And as the train went on again, she stretched herself out and apparently closed her eyes. But she was not asleep and was watching her dear husband between her eyelashes.     16   
     
  On the Landgrafenstrasse, which still had houses on one side only, Katherine’s mother had in the meantime arranged the home for the young couple, who were much pleased with the comfort that they found awaiting them when they arrived in Berlin at the beginning of October. Fire was burning in the fireplaces of the two front rooms, but the doors and windows stood open, for the autumn air was mild and the fire was only for the sake of cheerfulness and for ventilation. But the most attractive thing was the large balcony with its low-hanging awning, under which one could look straight out over the open country, first over the birch woods and the Zoological Garden and beyond that as far as the northern point of the Grünewald.     17   
  Katherine clapped her hands for joy over this beautiful wide view, embraced her mother, kissed Botho and then suddenly pointed to the left, where between scattered poplars and willows a shingled tower could be seen. “See, Botho, how comical. It looks as if it had been notched three times. And the village near by. What is it called?”     18   
  “Wilmersdorf, I believe,” stammered Botho.     19   
  “Very well, Wilmersdorf. But what do you mean by ‘I believe’? You surely must know the names of the villages hereabouts. Only look, mamma, doesn’t he look as if he had been betraying a state secret? Nothing is more comical than these men.”     20   
  And then they left the balcony, and went into the room near it to take their first luncheon en famille: only Katherine’s mother, the young couple and Serge, who had been invited as the only guest.     21   
     
  Rienäcker’s house was scarcely a thousand steps from that of Frau Nimptsch. But Lena did not know that and often passed through the Landgrafenstrasse, which she would have avoided if she had had the slightest suspicion that Botho lived so near.     22   
  Yet it could not long remain a secret to her.     23   
  The third week in October was beginning, but it was still like summer and the sun shone so warm, that one could scarcely notice the slight sharpness in the air.     24   
  “I must go into town to-day, mother,” said Lena. “I have a letter from Goldstein. He wants to speak to me about a pattern that is to be embroidered on the Princess Waldeck’s linen. And while I am in town, I shall also go to see Frau Demuth in old Jakobstrasse. Otherwise one would never see a soul. But I shall be back at about noon. I shall tell Frau Dörr, so that she will keep an eye on you.”     25   
  “Never mind, Lena, never mind. I like best to be alone. And Frau Dörr talks so much and always about her husband. And I have my fire. And when the goldfinch chirps, that is company enough for me. But if you could bring me a bag of candy, I have so much trouble with my throat tickling and malt candy is so loosening …”     26   
  “Very well, mother.”     27   
  And then Lena left the quiet little house and walked first along the Kurfürsten Strasse and then the Potsdamer Strasse, to the Spittelmarkt, where the Goldstein Brothers’ place of business was. All went well and it was nearly noon. Lena was homeward bound, and this time had chosen to pass through the Lützowstrasse instead of the Kurfürsten Strasse as before. The sun did her good and the bustle and stir on the Magdeburg Square, where the weekly market was being held and everything was being made ready for departure, pleased her so much that she paused to watch the cheerful activity. She was quite absorbed in this and was only aroused when the fire apparatus rushed by her with a great noise.     28   
  Lena listened until the rumbling and ringing had vanished in the distance, but then she glanced to the left at the clock tower of the Church of the Twelve Apostles. “Just twelve,” said she. “Now I shall have to hurry; she always grows uneasy if I come home later than she expects me.” And so she went on down the Lützowstrasse to the square of the same name. But suddenly she paused and did not know which way to turn, for at a little distance she recognised Botho, who was coming directly towards her, with a pretty young lady leaning on his arm. The young lady was speaking with animation and apparently about droll or cheerful things, for Botho was laughing all the time, as he looked down at her. It was to this circumstance that she owed the fact that she had not been observed long before, and quickly deciding to avoid a meeting with him at any price, she turned to the right of the sidewalk and stepped up to the nearest large show window, before which there was a square iron plate, probably used as a cover for the opening to a cellar. The window itself belonged to an ordinary grocery store, with the usual assortment of stearine candles and bottles of mixed pickles, in no way uncommon, but Lena stared at them as if she had never seen the like before. And truly it was time, for at this very moment the young couple passed close to her and not a word of the conversation between them escaped her.     29   
  “Katherine, don’t talk so loud,” said Botho, “people will be staring at us.”     30   
  “Let them …”     31   
  “But they must think we are quarreling …”     32   
  “While we are laughing? Quarrelling and laughing at once?” And she laughed again.     33   
  Lena felt the thin iron plate on which she stood tremble. A horizontal brass rod ran across in front of the show window to protect the large pane of glass and for a moment it seemed to Lena as if she must catch at this rod for help and support, but she managed to stand straight, and only when she could make sure that the pair were far enough away did she turn to walk homeward. She felt her way cautiously along close to the houses and got on well enough at first. But soon she felt as if she were going to faint, and when she reached the next side street that led toward the canal, she turned into it and stepped through an open gate into a garden. It was with difficulty that she dragged herself as far as a little flight of steps that led to a veranda and terrace, and sat down, nearly fainting, on one of the steps.     34   
  As she came to herself, she saw that a half-grown girl, with a little spade in her hand with which she had been digging small beds, was standing near her and looking at her sympathetically, while from the veranda railing an old nurse regarded her with scarcely less curiosity. Apparently no one but the child and the old servant was at home, and Lena rose and thanked them both and walked back to the gate. But the half-grown girl looked after her with sad and wondering eyes, and it almost seemed as if some premonition of the sorrows of life had dawned upon her childish heart.     35   
  Meanwhile Lena, having crossed the embankment, had reached the canal, and now walked along at the foot of the slope where she could be sure of meeting nobody. From the boats a Spitz dog barked now and then, and as it was noontime a thin smoke rose from the little stovepipes of the galleys. But she saw and heard nothing of what was going on, or at least had no clear consciousness of it, and only where beyond the Zoological Garden the houses by the canal came to an end and the great lock gate with the water rushing and foaming over it came in sight, did she stand still and struggle for breath. “Ah, if I could only cry.” And she pressed her hand to her heart.     36   
     
  At home she found her mother in her accustomed place and sat down opposite her, without a word or a glance being exchanged between them. But suddenly the old woman, who had been looking all the time in the same direction, glanced up from the fire and was startled at the change in Lena’s face.     37   
  “Lena, child, what is wrong with you? How you do look, Lena?” And although she was usually slow in her movements, she jumped up in a moment from her bench and got the jug, to sprinkle water on Lena, who still sat as if she were half dead. But the jug was empty and so she hobbled into the passageway and from there into the yard and the garden, to call good Frau Dörr, who was cutting wallflowers and honeysuckle for bouquets for the market. Her old husband stood near her and was just saying: “Don’t use up too much string again.”     38   
  When Frau Dörr, heard from some little distance the distressed cry of the old woman, she turned pale and called back “I am coming, Mother Nimptsch, I am coming,” and throwing down whatever she had in her hands, she ran at once to the little house, saying to herself that something must be wrong there.     39   
  “Yes, just as I thought … Lena.” And she vigorously shook the young girl, who still sat lifeless as before, while the old woman slowly shuffled in from the passageway.     40   
  “We must put her to bed,” said Frau Dörr, and Frau Nimptsch started to take hold with her. But that was not what the stronger woman meant by “we”. “I can manage alone, Mother Nimptsch,” and taking Lena in her arms, she carried her into the next room and covered her over.     41   
  “There, Mother Nimptsch. Now a hot cover. I know what is the trouble, it comes from the blood. First a cover and then a hot brick to the soles of her feet; but put it right under the instep, that is where the life is.… But what brought it on? It must have been some shock.”     42   
  “I don’t know. She didn’t say anything. But I think that perhaps she saw him.”     43   
  “That is so. That’s it. I know about that.… But now shut the window and draw down the blinds.… Some people believer in camphor and Hoffmann’s drops, but camphor is so weakening and is really only fit for moths. No, dear Frau Nimptsch, nature must help itself, and especially when one is so young, and so I believe in sweating. But thoroughly. And what makes all the trouble? The men. And yet we need them and must have them.… There, her color is coming back.”     44   
  “Hadn’t we better send for a doctor?”     45   
  “Heaven forbid! They are all out going their rounds now and before one of them would get here she might die and come to life again three times over.”

Chapter XVII   
     
TWO and a half years had passed since this meeting, during which time many things had changed in our circle of friends and acquaintances, but not among those of the Landgrafenstrasse.      1   
  The same good humor continued there, the gayety of the honeymoon still remained, and Katherine continued to laugh as of old. What might perhaps have troubled other young women, that they had no children, did not disturb Katherine for a moment. She enjoyed life so much and found such complete satisfaction in dressing and small-talk, in riding and driving, that she shrank from any change in her way of life rather than desired it. The feeling for family life, to say nothing of any real longing for it, had not yet awakened in her and when her mother made some remark in a letter about such matters, Katherine answered somewhat heretically: “Don’t trouble yourself, mamma. Botho’s brother has just become engaged, and in six months he will be married and I shall gladly leave to my future sister-in-law the care of providing for the continuance of the house of Rienäcker.”      2   
  Botho did not take exactly this view, but even his happiness was not seriously disturbed by the lack of children, and if from time to time he had a discontented mood, it was chiefly because, as he had already found out on his wedding journey to Dresden, he could perhaps talk somewhat reasonably with Katherine, but any really serious speech with her was wholly out of the question. She was talkative and sometimes even had bright ideas, but the best things she ever said were but superficial and trivial, as if she were unable to distinguish between important and unimportant things. And what was the worst of all, she considered all this as a merit, and plumed herself on it, and never thought of correcting the habit. “But, Katherine, Katherine,” Botho would exclaim sometimes, and the tone of his voice would show some displeasure, but her happy nature could always disarm him again, so completely, indeed, that his own expectation seemed almost pedantic to him.      3   
  Lena with her simplicity, genuineness, and directness of speech often recurred to his mind, but vanished again as quickly; and only when chance recalled some special incident very vividly did her image come to him with greater distinctness, and perhaps a stronger feeling with which some embarrassment was mingled.      4   
  Such an incident happened during the first summer, when the young couple, who had returned from dining with Count Alten, were sitting on the balcony taking tea. Katherine was leaning back in her chair listening to a newspaper article which was profusely interspersed with figures, and dealt with the subject of minister’s salaries and surplice fees. She actually understood very little of the subject, and all the less because the many figures troubled her, but she listened rather attentively, because all the young girls of her province spend half their youth “with the minister” and so they retain a certain sympathy with the affairs of the parsonage. This was the case to-day. Finally evening came on and just as it was growing dark the concert at the Zoological Garden began and the tones of a ravishing Strauss Waltz reached them.      5   
  “Only listen, Botho,” said Katherine, rising, while she added eagerly: “Come, let us dance.” And without waiting for his consent, she pulled him up out of his chair and waltzed with him into the large room from which the balcony opened and then two or three times around the room. Then she kissed him, and while she clung to him caressingly she said: “Do you know, Botho, I never danced so wonderfully before, not even at my first ball, that I went to while I was still at Frau Zülow’s and had not yet been confirmed, if I must confess it. Uncle Osten took me on his own responsibility and mamma knows nothing about it to this very day. But even then it was not so lovely as to-day. And yet forbidden fruit is the sweetest. Isn’t it? But you are not saying anything, Botho, you seem embarrassed. See, now I have caught you again.”      6   
  He attempted to say something or other, but she did not give him a chance to speak. “I really believe, Botho, my sister Ina has taken your fancy and it is of no use your trying to comfort me by saying that she is only a little half-grown girl or not much more. Those are always the most dangerous. Don’t you think so? Now I am not going to take any notice and I do not grudge it to you or to her. But I am very jealous about old affairs of long ago, far, far more jealous than of things that may happen now.”      7   
  “How curious,” said Botho, and tried to laugh.      8   
  “And yet after all it is not so curious as it may look,’ Katherine went on. “Don’t you see, affairs that are going on now one has almost under one’s eyes; and it must be a hard case and an arch deceiver, if one should notice nothing and so be completely betrayed. But there is no control possible over old stories; there might be a thousand and three, and one might hardly know it.”      9   
  “And what one does not know …”     10   
  “May make one’s anger grow. But let us drop all this and read me something more from the paper. I was reminded constantly of our Kluckhuhns. And the good wife can’t understand it, and the oldest boy is just going to the University.     11   
     
  Such incidents happened more and more frequently and led Botho to recall old times as well as Lena’s image; but he never saw her, which surprised him, because he knew that they were almost neighbors.     12   
  This surprised him and yet it would have been easily explained had he promptly ascertained that Frau Nimptsch and Lena were no longer living at the old place. And yet this was the case. From the day when she had met the young couple on the Lützowstrasse, Lena had told her old mother that she could no longer stay in the Dörr’s house. And when Mother Nimptsch, who used never to contradict her, shook her head and whimpered and continually pointed to the fireplace, Lena said: “Mother, you know me. I will never rob you of your open fire; you shall have everything again that you have had; I have saved up money enough for it, and even if I had not, I would work until I had got it together. But we must get away from here. Every day I should have to pass that way, and I could never stand it, mother. I do not grudge him his happiness, and what is more, I am glad that he has it. God is my witness, for he was a dear, good man and lived only for my sake; no pride, no stinginess. And I will say it right out, for all that I cannot bear fine gentlemen, he is a real nobleman, and his heart is in the right place. Yes, my dear Botho, you must be happy, as happy as you deserve to be. But I cannot bear to see it, mother, I must get away from here, for I cannot take ten steps without imagining that he is right there before me. And that keeps me all in a tremble. No, no, it will never do. But you shall have your fireplace. I am your Lena, and I promise you that.”     13   
  After this talk there was no more opposition on the part of old Frau Nimptsch and even Frau Dörr said: “Of course, you will have to go. And it serves that old miser, Dörr, right. He is always grumbling at me that you are getting the place too cheap and that what you pay would never cover rent and repairs. Now let him see how he likes it when he had the whole place standing empty. For that is how it will be. For who is going to move into such a doll’s house, where every cat can peek in at the window and there is no gas nor running water. Well, it is plain; you can give a quarter’s notice and at Easter you can leave, and it will do him no good to make a fuss. And I am really glad of it; yes, Lena, I am so glad. But then I have to pay for my bit of malice too, For when you are gone, child, and good Frau Nimptsch with her fire and her teakettle that is always boiling, what shall I have left, Lena? Only him and Sultan and the poor foolish boy, who keeps growing more foolish. And nobody else in the world. And when it grows cold and the snow falls, it is enough to drive one crazy, simply sitting still and all alone.”     14   
  Such were the early discussions, since Lena held fast to her plan of moving, and at Easter time, a furniture wagon drew up before th door to carry away her household possessions. Old Dörr had behaved surprisingly well at the last and after a formal farewell Frau Nimptsch was bundled into a Droschke with her squirrel and her goldfinch and carried to the Luise Bank, where Lena had hired a charming little flat, three fights up, and had not only gotten a little new furniture, but had remembered her promise, and had arranged to have a pleasant open fireplace built on to the big stove in the front room. The landlord had at first made all sorts of difficulties, “because such an addition would ruin the stove.” But Lena had persevered and had given her reasons, which made such an impression on the landlord, an old master-carpenter who was pleased with such ideas, that at last he was disposed to yield.     15   
  The two now lived in much the same was that they had formerly done in the house in the Dörr’s garden, only with this difference, that they were now three flights up and that they looked out upon the beautiful tower of Michael’s church instead of the fantastic tower of the elephants’ house. Indeed, the view that they enjoyed was delightful, and so free and fine that it even influenced the habits of old Frau Nimptsch and induced her not to sit all the time on the bench by the fire, but when the sun was shining, to sit by the open window, where Lena had managed to have a little platform placed. All this did old Frau Nimptsch a great deal of good and even improved her health, so that since her change f abode, she suffered much less pain than in the Dörr’s little house, which, however poetically it was situated, was not much better than a cellar.     16   
  For the rest, never a week passed without Frau Dörr’s coming all the long distance form the Zoological Garden to the Luise Bank, simply “to see how everything was going on.” During these visits she talked, after the manner of Berlin wives, exclusively about her husband, and always in a tone which implied that her marriage to him had been one of the most dreadful mésalliances and really half inexplicable. In fact, however, she was extremely comfortable and contented, and was actually glad that Dörr had his peculiarities. For she reaped only advantages from them, first, to grow richer all the time, and second (an advantage which she valued quite as highly) without any danger of change or loss of property she could continually hold herself superior to the old miser and reproach him for his niggardly ways. So Dörr was the principal theme of these conversations and Lena, unless she was at Goldstein’s or somewhere else in town, always laughed heartily with the others, all the more so because she, as well as Frau Nimptsch, had visibly improved in health since they had moved. The moving in, buying and placing of house furnishings had, as one may imagine, led her away from her own thoughts from the beginning and what was still more helpful and important for her health and the recovery of her spirits was that she no longer needed to fear a meeting with Botho. Who came away out to the Luise Bank? Certainly not Botho. All this combined to make her seem comparatively fresh and cheerful again, and only one outward sign remained of the struggles she had been through: in the midst of her long hair there was one white strand. Mother Nimptsch either did not notice this or did not think much about it, but Frau Dörr, who in her own way followed the fashions and was uncommonly proud of her own braid of hair, noticed the white lock at once and said: “Good Lord, Lena. And right on the left side. But naturally … that is where the trouble is … it would have to be on the left.”     17   
  It was soon after the moving that this conversation took place. Otherwise there was usually no mention either of Botho or of the old days, which was simply because whenever the gossip turned in this special direction, Lena always broke off the conversation quickly or even left the room. As this happened again and again, Frau Dörr remarked it and learned to keep silence about topics which proved unwelcome. So things went on for a year and then there appeared another reason that made it seem inadvisable to recall past incidents. A new neighbour had hired a room just on the other side of the wall from Frau Nimptsch, and while he seemed to wish to be on neighbourly terms from the beginning, he soon promised to become even more than a good neighbour. He would come in every evening and talk, so that it seemed like the old times when Dörr used to sit on his stool smoking his pipe, only that the new neighbour was very different in may ways. He was a correct and well educated man, with very proper although not exactly fine manners, and was also a good talker. When Lena was present, he would talk about all sorts of town affairs, such as schools, gas works, or canals, and sometimes also about his travels. If it happened that he found the old lady alone, he was not at all annoyed, but would play “everlasting” or checkers or would help her with a game of patience, in spite of the fact that he hated cards. For he was a Conventicler, and after he had taken some part with the Mennonites and later with the followers of Irving, he had still more recently founded a separate sect.     18   
  As may be readily imagined, all this aroused Frau Dörr’s curiosity to the highest pitch, and she was never weary of asking questions, and making allusions, but only when Lena was busy at some household task or had matters to attend to in town. “Tell me, dear Frau Nimptsch, just what is he, really? I have tried to hunt him up, but he is not in the book; Dörr never has any later one than year before last. His name is Franke?”     19   
  “Yes, Franke.”     20   
  “Franke. There used to be one on the Ohmgasse, a master cooper, and he had only one eye; that is, the other eye was still there, but it was all white and looked just like a fish’s bladder. And what do you suppose had happened to it? When he went to put on a hoop, it had sprung loose and the end had hit him in the eye. That is how it was. Could he have come from there?”     21   
  “No, Frau Dörr, he is not from anywhere near here. He is from Bremen.”     22   
  “Well, well. Then of course it is quite natural.”     23   
  Frau Nimptsch nodded in assent, without seeking to be further enlightened as to this “naturalness,” and went on talking herself: “And it only takes a fortnight to go from Bremen to America. And he has been there. And he was a tinman or a locksmith or a workman in a machine shop or something like that, but when he saw that he could not make it go, he became a doctor and went around with a lot of little bottles and he began to preach too. And because he reached so well, he got a position with the … There now, I have forgotten it again. But they must have been very pious people and good proper people too.”     24   
  “Glory be to God!” said Frau Dörr. “Surely he was not.… Heavens, what is the name of those people that have so many wives, always six or seven and sometimes even more.… I don’t know what they do with so many.”     25   
  This theme seemed made on purpose for Frau Dörr. But Frau Nimptsch reassured her friend: “No, dear Frau Dörr, it is quite different. At first I thought it was something like that, but he laughed and said: ‘The Lord forbid, Frau Nimptsch. I am a bachelor. And if I ever marry, I think one will be quite enough.’”     26   
  “Oh, that takes a load off my heart,” said Frau Dörr. “And what happened afterwards? I mean over in America.”     27   
  “Well, after that everything went well and it was not long till he ad help enough. For religious people are always helping each other. And he found customers again and got back to his old trade. And that is what he works at now, and he is in a big factory here on the Köpnickerstrasse, where they make little tubes and burners and stopcocks and everything that is needed for gas. And he is the chief man, something like a foreman carpenter or foreman mason, and has perhaps a hundred under him. And he is a very respectable man and he wears a tall hat and black gloves. And he has a good salary too.”     28   
  “And Lena?”     29   
  “Oh, Lena, she would take him all right. And why not? But she cannot hold her tongue, and if he comes and says anything to her, she is going to tell him everything, all the old stories, first the one with Kuhlwein (and that is so long ago that it is just as if it never had happened), and then all about the Baron. And Franke, you must know, is a refined and well-behaved man, and really a gentleman.”     30   
  “We must persuade her out of that. He does not need to know everything; why should he? We never know everything; why should he? We never know everything.”     31   
  “Yes, yes. But Lena …”

   
Chapter XVIII   
     
IT was now June, 1878. Frau von Rienäcker and Frau von Sellenthin had spent the month of May on a visit with the young couple; and the mother and the mother-in-law had day by day convinced each other that Katherine looked paler and more bloodless and languid than she had ever been before, and needless to say they had incessantly urged that a specialist should be consulted, by whose advice, after a gynecological examination (which, by the way, proved very expensive), a four weeks’ stay at the Schlangenbad health resort was pronounced indispensable and was accordingly decided upon. Schwalbach might be useful later. Katherine laughed and would not hear of any such thing, especially of Schlangenbad, “the name sounded so uncanny and she already seemed to feel a viper in her bosom,” but finally she had yielded and had found in the preparations for the journey a far greater contentment than she expected from the cure itself. She went down town every day to make purchases, and was never tired of telling how she was only now beginning to understand “shopping” which was in such high favor among Englishwomen: to go from shop to shop and always to find beautiful goods and courteous people, was really a pleasure and instructive too, because one saw so much that one did not know before, perhaps not even by name. As a rule Botho took part in these little trips and excursions, and before the beginning of the last week in June, half of the Rienäckers’ dwelling was turned into a little exhibition of traveller’s conveniences: a brassbound travelling trunk, which Botho, not without some show of justice, called the coffin of his property—this took the lead, then came two smaller ones of Russia leather, with satchels, rugs, and cushions, and the travelling wardrobe lay spread out over the sofa with a dust cloak over all and a pair of marvellous thick-soled laced boots, as if a trip to the glaciers were in question.      1   
  June 24th, midsummer day was set for the beginning of the journey, but the day before Katherine wanted the intimate circle to be gathered around her once more, and so Wedell and young Osten, and naturally Pitt and Serge too, were invited for a comparatively early hour. Also Katherine’s special favorite Balafré, who had as a “Halberstädter” taken part in the great cavalry attack at Mars-la-Tour, and who still deserved his nickname because of a great sabre cut across his brow and cheek, a souvenir of that battle.      2   
  Katherine sat between Wedell and Balafré and did not look as if she were in need of the Schlangenbad or any other water cure in the world. She had color, laughed, asked a hundred questions and when the person of whom she had asked the question started to speak, she contented herself with a minimum in the way of reply. In fact she led the conversation, and no one was offended with her, because she was a past mistress in the art of pleasing small talk. Balafré asked how she pictured her life at the water cure. Schlangenbad was renowned not only for its wonderful cures but also for its monotony, and four weeks of monotony at a health resort would be a good deal even under the most favorable circumstances.      3   
  “Oh, dear Balafré,” said Katherine, “you ought not to frighten me, and you would not if you knew how much Botho has done for me. He has got me eight novels though, to be sure, he put them in the bottom layer of my trunk; and in order that my imagination should not be prejudiced against water cures, he put in also a book about scientific fish culture.”      4   
  Balafré laughed.      5   
  “Yes, you laugh, my dear friend, and yet you know only the lesser half, for the larger half (Botho, you know, never does anything without weighty reason) is his motives. Of course, what I just said about the pamphlet on fish culture being meant to prevent my taking a prejudice against the water cure was only a joke. The serious side of the matter is simply this, that I must actually read the pamphlet, and that from local patriotism, for Neumark, your happy home as well as mine, has been for a long time the birth and breeding place of scientific fish culture, and if I knew nothing of this new factor of food production, so important nationally and economically, I should never dare to show myself again on the further side of the Oder in the Landsbergerkreise, much less, however, in Verneuchen, at my Cousin Borne’s.”      6   
  Botho started to speak, but she cut him off and went on: “I know what you were going to say, that the eight novels were only put in ‘in case of emergency.’ But I think there are not likely to be any ‘emergencies.’ Only yesterday I had a letter from my sister Ina, who wrote me that Anna Grävenitz has already been there for a week. You know her, Wedell; she was a Miss Rohr, a charming blonde. We were together at old Frau Zülow’s Pension, and we were even in the same class. And I remember how we both adored our divine Felix Bachmann, and even wrote verses, until good old Zülow said that she forbade any such nonsense. And Elly Winterfield, as Ina writes me, is apparently coming too. And now I say to myself, in company with two charming young women—and I myself for the third, even if I cannot be compared with the others—in such good company, I say, one must surely be able to live. Don’t you think so, dear Balafré?”      7   
  The latter bowed with a grotesque air, which seemed to express his agreement with everything Katherine might say, except her assertion that any one might be her superior, but nevertheless he resumed his former list of questions: “If I might hear the details, gracious lady! The separate items, so to speak; one minute, may decide our happiness and unhappiness. And there are so many minutes in a day.”      8   
  “Well, I think it will be like this: Every morning letters. Then a promenade concert and a walk with the two ladies, preferably in a secluded path. There we will sit down and read our letters aloud, for I hope we shall have received some, and we shall laugh if he writes tenderly and say ‘Yes, yes.’ And then comes the bath, and after the bath the toilette, naturally with care and enthusiasm, which in Schlangenbad may be no less amusing than in Berlin. Rather the contrary. And then we shall go to lunch and I shall have an old general on my right and a rich manufacturer on my left. From my youth on I have had a passion for manufacturers—a passion of which I am much ashamed. For either they have invented a new kind of armor plate or laid a submarine telegraphic cable or bored a tunnel or constructed an ascending railway. And beside all this, they are rich, which I do not at all despise. And after lunch, the reading-room and coffee, with the Venetian blinds let down, so that light and shade will be chasing each other across the newspaper. And then a walk, or a drive. And perhaps, if we are fortunate, a couple of cavaliers from Frankfort or Mainz may have wandered over and they may ride beside the carriage; and I must say, my friends, that compared with Hussars, whether red or blue, you are not in the fashion, and from my military standpoint it is and remains a decided blunder, that they have doubled the Dragoon Guards, but have, so to speak, simply left the Hussars alone. And it is still more incomprehensible to me that they should be left over there. Anything so special belongs in the capital.”      9   
  Botho, who began to be annoyed by his wife’s great talent for conversation, tried by means of little jokes and mockeries to stem the tide of her endless prattle. But his guests were far less critical than he, indeed they grew more enthusiastic than ever over “the charming little woman,” and Balafré, who was over head and ears in his admiration for Katherine, said: “Rienäcker, if you say one word more against your wife, you are a dead man. My dear lady, what in the world does your ogre of a husband want? What does he find to criticise? I can’t imagine. And in the end I am forced to believe that he feels his honor as a cavalryman insulted, and if you will pardon the pun, he rumples his feathers simply because he has feathers. Rienäcker, I take my oath! If I had such a wife as you have, her lightest whim would be my law, and if she wanted to turn me into a Hussar, I would join the Hussars and make an end of it. But so much I know for certain, and I would stake my life and honor on it, if his Majesty could hear such persuasive words, the Hussars would never have another quiet hour; to-morrow morning they would be in the quarters for moving troops at Zehlendorf, and day after to-morrow they would be marching into Berlin through the Brandenburg Gate. Oh these Sellenthins, whose health I drink, taking time by the forelock, the first, second, and third time in this one toast! Why have you not another sister, my dear lady? Why is Fräulein Ina already engaged? It is too soon and in any case it is my loss.”     10   
  Katherine was delighted with these small flatteries and assured him that, in spite of the fact that Ina was now hopelessly lost to him, she would do everything for him that could possibly be done, although she knew perfectly well that he was an incorrigible bachelor and was only making pretty speeches.     11   
  Immediately afterwards, however, she dropped her badinage with Balafré and began to talk once more about her journey, and especially about how she thought her correspondence would be during her absence. She hoped, as she could not help repeating, that she should get a letter every day, for that was no more than the duty of an affectionate husband, and as for her, she would think it over, and only on the first day, she would show some sign of life at every station. This proposal was approved even by Rienäcker, and finally was but slightly altered, it being decided that at every important station she passed through, in spite of detours, as far as Cologne, she should write a card, but that she should put all the cards, whether they were few or many, in one envelope. This plan would have the advantage, that she could express herself freely about her travelling companions without any fear of post-office clerks and letter carriers.     12   
  After dinner they took their coffee on the balcony, where Katherine, after making some objections, appeared in her travelling costume: a Rembrandt hat and a dust cloak with a travelling satchel slung over her shoulder. She looked charming. Balafré was more enchanted than ever and begged her not to be too much surprised if the next morning she should find him anxiously squeezed into the corner of the coupé as an escort for the journey.     13   
  “Provided that he gets his furlough,” laughed Pitt.     14   
  “Or that he deserts,” added Serge, “which would really be the first thing that would make his devotion complete.”     15   
  And so they chatted for a while longer. Then they bade their hospitable host and hostess good-bye and agreed to go together as far as the bridge at Lützow Square. Here, however, they divided into two groups, and while Balafré, Wedell and Osten sauntered further along the canal, Pitt and Serge, who were going to Kroll’s, went toward the Thiergarten.     16   
  “What a charming creature that Katherine is,” said Serge. “Rienäcker seems rather prosaic beside her, and then he looks at her so discontentedly and so reprovingly, as if he needed to make excuses to every one for the little woman, who to a discerning eye is really cleverer than he.”     17   
  Pitt kept silence.     18   
  “And what in the world does she want at Schwalbach or Schlangenbad?” Serge went on. “That does not help matters at all. And if it does, it is usually a rather peculiar sort of help.”     19   
  Pitt glanced at him sidewise. “I think, Serge, that you are growing more and more Russian, or what amounts to the same thing, you are living up to your name more and more.”     20   
  “But still not enough. But joking aside, my friend, I am in earnest about one thing: Rienäcker makes me angry. What has he against the charming little woman? Do you know?”     21   
  “Yes.”     22   
  “Well?”     23   
  “She is rather a little silly. Or if you prefer it in German, she babbles a bit. At all events too much for him.”

   
Chapter XIX   
     
BETWEEN Berlin and Potsdam Katherine was already drawing down the yellow curtains of the car windows to protect herself from the dazzling light which grew stronger and stronger. But on this same day no curtains were drawn in the little home on the Luise Bank and the forenoon sun shone brightly in at Frau Nimptsch’s window and filled the whole room with light. Only the background was in shadow and here stood an old-fashioned bed with a high pile of red and white checked pillows, against which Frau Nimptsch was leaning. She was sitting up rather than lying down, because she had water on the lungs and was suffering severely from asthma. She kept turning her head toward the one open window, but still oftener toward the fireplace where no fire was burning to-day.      1   
  Lena was sitting by her, holding her hand, and when she saw that her mother kept looking in the same direction, she said: “Shall I make a fire, mother? I thought that you were lying warm in bed and it is such a hot day…”      2   
  The old woman did not speak, but it seemed to Lena as if she would like it. So she went and knelt down and lit a fire.      3   
  When she came back to the bed, the old woman smiled contentedly and said: “Yes, Lena, it is hot. But you know, I always want to see it. And when I do not see it, I think everything is gone and there is not a spark of life left. And there is so much trouble here.…”      4   
  And she pointed to her breast and heart.      5   
  “Ah, mother, you are always thinking about dying. And yet it has passed away so many times already.”      6   
  “Yes, child, it has passed away often, but it must come sometime and at seventy it may come any day. I wish you would open the other window too, so that there will be more air and the fire will burn better. Just look, it isn’t burning well, it smokes so…”      7   
  “The sun does that, it is shining right on it.…”      8   
  “And then give me the green drops that Frau Dörr brought me. They always help me a little.”      9   
  Lena did as she was asked and when the sick woman had taken the drops, she really seemed to be a little better and easier around her heart. She propped herself up with her hands and raised herself higher, and when Lena had put another cushion behind her back, she said:     10   
  “Has Franke been here lately?”     11   
  “Yes, he was here early to-day. He always stops to inquire before he goes to the factory.”     12   
  “He is a very good man.”     13   
  “Yes, he is that.”     14   
  “And about the Conventiclers.…”     15   
  “It may not be so bad. And I almost believe that he gets his good principles from them. Do you believe so?”     16   
  The old woman smiled. “No, Lena, they come from the good God. And one has them and another has not. I don’t believe very much in learning and training.… And has not he said anything yet?”     17   
  “Yes, yesterday evening.”     18   
  “And how did you answer him?”     19   
  “I told him that I would accept him, because I thought he was an honorable and trustworthy man, who would not only take care of me, but of you too.…”     20   
  The old woman nodded her approval.     21   
  “And,” Lena went on, “when I had told him that, he took my hand and exclaimed cheerfully: ‘So then, Lena, it is all settled!’ But I shook my head and said, not quite so fast, because I still had something to confess to him. And when he asked what it was, I told him that I had had two love affairs: First … there, mother, you know all about it … and the first I liked very much and the other I loved dearly and still cared for him. But he was now happily married and I had never seen him again but just once, and I did not want to seen him again. But, since he was so good and kind to us, I felt obliged to tell him everything, because I would not deceive anyone, and certainly not him.…”     22   
  “My Lord, my Lord,” whimpered the old woman, while Lena was speaking.     23   
  “And directly afterwards he got up and went back to his own rooms. But I could see plainly that he was not angry. Only he would not let me go to the door with him as usual.”     24   
  Frau Nimptsch was evidently anxious and uneasy, although indeed one could not tell whether the cause was what Lena had told her or the struggle for breath. But it almost seemed as if it were her breathing, for suddenly she said: “Lena, child, I am not high enough. You will have to put the song book under me too.”     25   
  Lena did not contradict her, but went and got the song book. But when she brought it, her mother said: “No, not that one, that is the new one. I want the old one, the thick one with the two clasps.” And when Lena came back with the thick song book, she went on: “I used to have to bring that same book to my mother too when I was not much more than a child and my mother was not yet fifty; and she suffered here too, and her great frightened eyes kept looking at me so. But when I put the Porst song book, that she had got when she was confirmed, under her, she grew perfectly quiet and fell peacefully asleep. And I want to do that too. Ah, Lena. It isn’t death… but dying.… There, now. Ah, that helps me.”     26   
  Lena wept softly to herself and since she now saw plainly that the good old woman’s last hour was very near, she sent word to Frau Dörr, that “her mother was in a bad way and would not Frau Dörr come.” She sent word back, “Yes, she would come.” Toward six o’clock she arrived, bustling noisily in, for she knew nothing about being quiet, even with sick people. She tramped about the room so that everything on or near the hearth shook and rattled, and at the same time she scolded about Dörr, who was always in town when he ought to be at home, and always at home when she wished he was in Jericho. Meanwhile she took the sick woman’s hand and asked Lena, “whether she had given her plenty of the drops?”     27   
  “Yes.”     28   
  “How many have you given her?”     29   
  “Five … five every two hours.”     30   
  That was not enough, Frau Dörr assured her, and after bringing to light all her medical knowledge she added: “She had let the medicine draw in the sun for a fortnight, and if one took it properly the water would go away as if it were pumped out. Old Selke at the Zoological had been just like a cask, and for more than four months he could never go to bed, but had to be propped up straight in a chair with all the windows wide open, but when he had taken the medicine for four days, it was just as if you squeezed a pig’s bladder: haven’t you seen how everything goes out of it and it is all soft and limp again!”     31   
  While she was telling all this, the vigorous Frau Dörr forced the sick woman to take a double dose from her thimble.     32   
  Lena, whose anxiety was only too justly redoubled by these heroic measures, took her shawl and made ready to go for a doctor. And Frau Dörr, who was not usually in favor of doctors, had nothing to say against it this time.     33   
  “Go,” said she, “she can’t hold out much longer. Just look here (and she pointed to the nostrils), that means death.”     34   
  Lena started; but she could scarcely have reached the square in front of Michael’s church, when the old woman, who had been lying in a half doze sat upright and called: “Lena…”     35   
  “Lena is not here.”     36   
  “Who is here then?”     37   
  “I, Mother Nimptsch. I, Frau Dörr.”     38   
  “Ah, Frau Dörr, that is right. Come here; sit on the footstool.”     39   
  Frau Dörr, who was not accustomed to receiving orders, hung back a little, but was too good-natured not to do as she was asked. And so she sat down on the stool.     40   
  And immediately the old woman began: “I want a yellow coffin and blue trimmings. But not too much.…”     41   
  “Yes, Frau Nimptsch.”     42   
  “And I want to be buried in the new Jacob’s churchyard, behind the Rollkrug and quite far over on the road to Britz.”     43   
  “Yes, Frau Nimptsch.”     44   
  “And I saved up enough for all that is needed, long ago, when I was still able to save up. And it is in the top drawer. And the chemise and short gown are there and a pair of white stockings marked with N. And it is lying among the other things.”     45   
  “Yes, Frau Nimptsch. Everything shall be done just as you say. And is there anything more?”     46   
  But the old woman did not seem to have heard Frau Dörr’s question, and without answering, she merely folded her hands, looked up toward the ceiling with a pious and peaceful expression and prayed: “Dear Father in heaven, protect her and reward her for all that she has done for a poor old woman.”     47   
  “Ah, Lena,” said Frau Dörr to herself and then she added: “The good Lord will do that too, Frau Nimptsch, I know him, and I have never seen any one come to grief that was like Lena and that had such a heart and such hands as she has.”     48   
  The old woman nodded and one could see that some pleasant picture was in her mind.     49   
  So the minutes passed away and when Lena came back and knocked on the door of the corridor, Frau Dörr was still sitting on the footstool and holding her old friend’s hand. And only when she heard Lena knock did she lay down Frau Nimptsch’s hand and go to open the door.     50   
  Lena was still out of breath. “He will be here right away.… He is coming at once.”     51   
  But Frau Dörr only said: “Oh Lord, the doctors!” and pointed to the dead woman.     52