"So, then, arrange matters, my child, in such a way that, say, every four or six weeks you can come to Vienna for a day and a night. We will often be very happy again, I trust. I regret I cannot see you during the next few days, and, moreover, I start off on a tour immediately after the concert. I have to play in London during the season there, and after that I am going on to Scotland. So I look forward to the joyful prospect of meeting you again in the autumn. "I greet you and kiss that sweet spot behind your ear, which I love best of all. "Your "EMIL." When Bertha had read the letter to the end, for some little time she sat bolt upright in the bed. A shudder seemed to pass through her whole body. She was not surprised; she knew that she had expected no other kind of letter. She shook herself.... Every four or six weeks ... excellent! Yes, for a day and a night.... It was shameful, shameful!... And how afraid he was that she might go to Vienna.... And then that observation right at the end, as if his object had been, while he was still at a safe distance, so to speak, to stimulate her senses, because that, forsooth, was the only kind of relations he desired to keep up with her.... It was shameful, shameful!... What sort of a woman had she been! She felt a loathing--loathing!... She sprang out of bed and dressed herself.... Well, what was going to happen after that?... It was over, over, over! He had not time to spare for her--no time at all!... One night every, six weeks, after the autumn.... Yes, my dear sir, I at once accept your honourable proposals with pleasure. Indeed, for myself, I desire nothing better! I will go on turning sour; I will go on giving music lessons and growing imbecile in this hole of a town.... You will fiddle away, turn women's heads, travel, be rich, famous and happy--and every four or six weeks I may hope to be taken for one night to some shabby room where you entertain your women of the street.... It was shameful, shameful, shameful!... Quick! She would get ready to go to Frau Rupius--Anna was ill, seriously ill--what mattered anything else? Before she went out, Bertha pressed Fritz to her heart, and she recalled the passage in Emil's letter: it is the place where your child was born.... Indeed, that was quite right, too; but Emil had not said that because it was true, but only to avoid the danger of having to see her more than once in six weeks. She hurried off.... How was it, then, that she did not feel any nervousness on Frau Rupius' account?... Ah, of course, she had known that Frau Rupius had been better the previous evening. But where was the letter, though?... She had again thrust it quite mechanically into her bodice. Some officers were sitting in front of the restaurant having breakfast. They were all covered with dust, having just returned from the manoeuvres. One of them gazed after Bertha. He was a very young man, and could only have obtained his commission quite recently....