Suddenly Anna opened her eyes, opened them very wide, so that they appeared immense; she fixed them on her husband, and, vainly striving, meanwhile, to raise herself up, said in a quite clear voice: "It was only you, only you ... believe me, it was only you whom I have..." The last word was unintelligible, but Bertha guessed it. Then Herr Rupius bent down, and kissed the dying woman on the forehead. Anna threw her arms around him; his lips lingered long on her eyes. The nurse had gone out of the room again. Suddenly Anna pushed her husband away from her; she no longer recognized him; delirium had set in. Bertha rose to her feet in great alarm, but she remained standing by the bed. "Go now!" said Herr Rupius to her. She lingered. "Go!" he repeated, this time in a stern voice. Bertha realized that she must go. She left the room quietly on tip-toes, as though Anna might still be disturbed by the sound of footsteps. Just as she entered the adjoining room she saw Doctor Friedrich, who was taking off his overcoat and, at the same time, was talking to a young doctor, the assistant at the hospital. He did not notice Bertha, and she heard him say: "In any other case I would have notified the authorities, but, as this affair falls out as it does.... Besides, there would be a terrible scandal, and poor Rupius would be the worst sufferer--" then he saw Bertha--"Good day, Frau Garlan." "Oh, doctor, what is really the matter, then?" Doctor Friedrich threw his colleague a rapid glance. "Blood poisoning," he replied. "You are, of course, aware, my dear Frau Garlan, that people often cut their fingers and die as a result; the wound cannot always he located. It is a great misfortune.... Yes, indeed!" He went into the room, followed by the assistant. Bertha went into the street like one stupified. What could be the meaning of the words which she had overheard--"information?"--"scandal?" Yes, had Herr Rupius, perhaps, murdered his own wife?... No, what nonsense! But some injury had been done to her, it was quite obvious ... and it must have been, in some way, connected with the visit to Vienna; for she had been taken ill during the night subsequent to her journey.... And the words of the dying woman recurred to Bertha: "It was only you, only you whom I have loved!..." Had they not sounded like a prayer for forgiveness? "Loved only you"--but ... another ... of course, she had a lover in Vienna.... Well, yes, but what followed?... Yes, she had wished to go away, and had not done so after all.... What could it have been that she said on that occasion at the railway station?... "I have made up my mind to do something else."... Yes, of course, she had taken leave of her lover in Vienna, and, on her return--had poisoned herself?... But why should she do that, though, if she loved only her husband?... And that was not a lie, certainly not! Bertha could not understand....