"For you--with pleasure. But we might just as well read it together."

He edged closer to Bertha and opened the paper.

Herr and Frau Martin came along, arm in arm, and stopped before them.

"Well, so you are back again from the momentous journey," said Herr Martin.

"Ah, yes, you were in Vienna," said Frau Martin, nestling against her husband. "And with Frau Rupius, too," she added, as though that implied an aggravation of the offence.

Once more Bertha had to give an account of her new costume. She told them all about it in a somewhat mechanical manner, indeed; but she felt, none the less, that it was long since she had been such an interesting personage as she was now.

Klingemann went by, bowed with ironical politeness, and turned round to Bertha with a look which seemed to express his sympathy for her in having to be friendly with such people.

It seemed to Bertha as though she were gifted that day with the ability to read men's glances.

It began to grow dark. They set off together towards the town. Bertha suddenly grew uneasy at not having met her boy. She walked on in front with Frau Martin, who turned the conversation on to the subject of Frau Rupius. She badly wanted to find out whether Bertha had observed anything.

"But what do you mean, Frau Martin? I accompanied Frau Rupius to her brother's house, and called for her there on my way back."

"And are you convinced that she was with her brother the whole time?"

"I really don't know what you expect Frau Rupius to do! Where would she have been then?"

"Well," said Frau Martin; "really, you are an artless creature. I must say--or are you only putting on? Do you quite forget then ..."

Then she whispered something into Bertha's ear, at which the latter grew very red. She had never heard such an expression from a woman. She was indignant.

"Frau Martin," she said, "I am not so old myself either and, as you see, it is quite possible to live a decent life in such circ.u.mstances."

Frau Martin was a little taken aback.

"Yes, of course!" she said. "Yes, of course! You must, I dare say, think that I am a little over-nice in such matters."

Bertha was afraid that Frau Martin might be about to give her some further and more intimate disclosures, and she was very glad to find that, at that moment, they had reached the street corner where she could say good-bye.

"Bertha, here's your paper!" her brother-in-law called after her.

She turned round quickly and took the paper. Then she hastened home.

Fritz had returned and was waiting for her at the window. She hurried up to him. She embraced and kissed him as though she had not seen him for weeks. She felt that she was completely engrossed with love for her boy, a fact which, at the time, filled her with pride. She listened to his account of how he had spent the afternoon, where he had been, and with whom he had played. She cut up his supper for him, undressed him, put him to bed, and was satisfied with herself. Her state of mind of the afternoon, when she had rummaged among the old letters, had cursed her fate and had even envied the tobacconist's wife, seemed to her, at the thought of it, as an attack of fever. She ate a hearty supper and went to bed early. Before falling to sleep, however, it occurred to her that she would like to read the paper. She stretched her limbs, shook up the soft bolster so that her head should be higher, and held the paper as near the candle as possible.

As her custom was, she first of all skimmed through the theatrical and art news. Even the short announcements, as well as the local reports, had acquired a new interest for her, since her trip to Vienna. Her eyelids were beginning to grow heavy when all at once she observed the name of Emil Lindbach amongst the personal news. She opened her eyes wide, sat up in bed and read the paragraph.

"Emil Lindbach, violinist to the Court of Bavaria, whose great success at the Spanish Court we were recently in a position to announce, has been honoured by the Queen of Spain, who has invested him with the Order of the Redeemer."

A smile flitted across her lips. She was glad, Emil Lindbach had obtained the Order of the Redeemer.... Yes ... the man whose letters she had been reading that very day ... the man who had kissed her--the man who had once written to her that he would never adore any other woman.... Yes, Emil--the only man in all the world in whom she really had still any interest--except her boy, of course. She felt as though this notice in the paper was intended only for her, as though, indeed, Emil himself had selected that expedient, so as to establish some means of communication with her. Had it not been he, after all, whose back she had seen in the distance on the previous day? All at once she seemed to be quite near to him; still smiling, she whispered to herself: "Herr Emil Lindbach, violinist to the Court of Bavaria, ... I congratulate you...."

Her lips remained half open. An idea had suddenly come to her. She got up quickly, donned her dressing-gown, took up the light and went into the adjoining room. She sat down at the table and wrote the following letter as fluently as though some one were standing beside her and dictating it, word for word:

"DEAR EMIL,

"I have just read in the newspaper that the Queen of Spain has honoured you by investing you with the Order of the Redeemer. I do not know whether you still remember me"--she smiled as she wrote these words--"but, all the same, I will not let this opportunity slip without congratulating you upon your many successes, of which I so often have the pleasure of reading. I am living most contentedly in the little town where fate has cast me; I am getting on very well!

"A few lines in reply would make me very happy.

"Your old friend,

"BERTHA.

"P.S.--Kind regards also from my little Fritz (five years old)."

She had finished the letter. For a moment she asked herself whether she should mention that she was a widow; but even if he had not known it before, it was quite obvious from her letter. She read it over and nodded contentedly. She wrote the address.

"Herr Emil Lindbach, violinist to the Court of Bavaria, Holder of the Order of the Redeemer ..." Should she write all that? He was certain to have many other Orders also ... "Vienna ..."

But where was he living at present? That, however, was of no consequence with such a celebrated name. Moreover the inaccuracy in the address would also show that she did not attach so very much importance to it all; if the letter reached him--well, so much the better. It was also a way of putting fate to the test.... Ah, but how was she to know for a certainty that the letter had arrived or not? The answer might, of course, quite easily fail to reach her if.... No, no, certainly not! He would be sure to thank her. And so, to bed.

She held the letter in her hand. No, she could not go to bed now, she was wide awake again. And, moreover, if she did not post the letter until next morning it would not go before the midday train, and would not reach Emil before the day after. That was an interminably long time. She had just spoken to him, and were thirty-six hours to be allowed to elapse before her words reached his ears?... Supposing she did not wait, but went to the post now?... no, to the station? Then he would have the letter at ten o'clock the next morning. He was certain to be late in rising--the letter would be brought into his room with his breakfast....

Yes, she must post the letter at once!

Quickly she dressed again. She hurried down the stairs--it was not yet late--she hastened along the main street to the station, put the letter in the yellow box, and was home again.

As she stood in her room, beside the tumbled bed, and she saw the paper lying on the floor and the candle flickering, it seemed as though she had returned from a strange adventure. For a long time she remained sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing through the window into the bright, starlit night, and her soul was filled with vague and pleasurable expectations.

V

"My Dear Bertha!

"I am wholly unable to tell you how glad I was to receive your letter. Do you really still think of me, then? How curious it is that it should have been an Order, of all things, that was the cause of my hearing from you again! Well, at all events, an Order has at least had some significance for once in a way! Therefore, I heartily thank you for your congratulations. But, apart from all that, don't you come to Vienna sometimes? It is not so very far, after all. I should be immensely pleased to see you again. So come soon!

"With all my heart,

"Your old

"Emil."

Bertha was sitting at breakfast, Fritz beside her. He was chatting, but she was not listening to him. The letter lay before her on the table.

It seemed miraculous. Two nights and a day ago she had posted her letter, and here was his reply already. Emil had not allowed a day to pa.s.s, not even an hour! He had written to her as cordially as if they had only parted the previous day.

She looked out of the window. What a splendid morning it was! Outside the birds were singing, and from the hills came floating down the fragrance of the early summer-tide.

Bertha read the letter again and again. Then she took Fritz, lifted him up and kissed him to her heart's content. It was long since she had been so happy.

While she was dressing she turned things over in her mind. It was Thursday; on Monday she had to go to Vienna again to try on the costume.

That was four long days, just the same s.p.a.ce of time as had elapsed since she had dined at her brother-in-law's--what a long time it seemed to have to wait. No, she must see Emil sooner than that. She could, of course, go the very next morning and remain in Vienna a few days. But what excuse could she make to the people at home?... Oh, she would be sure to find some pretext. It was more important to decide in what way she should answer his letter and tell him where she would meet him.... She could not write and say: "I am coming, please let me know where I can see you...."