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.