She walked slowly across the bridge, diagonally, and remembered how she had crossed it a few days ago in order to reach the neighbourhood of her former home, and to see Emil's window again. The throng of traffic at the bridge was immense; two streams, one coming from the suburb into the town, the other going in the opposite direction, poured by in confusion; carriages of all kinds rolled past; the air resounded with the jingling of bells, with whistling and with the shouts of drivers. Bertha tried to stand still, but was pushed forward. Suddenly she heard a whistle quite close by. A carriage pulled up, a head leaned out of the window ... it was Emil. He made a sign to her to come over to him. A few people immediately became attentive, and seemed very anxious to hear what the young man had to say to the lady who had gone up to his carriage. "Will you get in?" Emil asked in a low voice. "Get in...?" "Why, yes, it is raining, you see!" "Really, I would rather walk, if you don't mind." "Just as you like," said Emil. He got out quickly and paid the driver. Bertha observed, with some alarm, that about half a dozen people, who were crowding round her, were very anxious to see how this remarkable affair would turn out. "Come," said Emil. They quickly crossed the road, and thereby got away from the whole throng. They then walked slowly along a less frequented street by the bank of the Wien. "Why, Emil, you haven't brought your umbrella with you!" "Won't you take me under yours? Wait a moment, it won't do like this." He took the umbrella out of her hand, held it over both of them, and thrust his arm under hers. Now she felt that it was _his_ arm, and rejoiced greatly. "The country, unfortunately, is out of the question," he said. "What a pity." "Well, what have you been doing with yourself all day long?" She told him about the fashionable restaurant, in which she had had her dinner. "Now, why on earth didn't I know about that? I thought you were dining with your cousin. We might, of course, have had such a pleasant lunch together!" "You have had so much to do, I dare say," she said, a little proud at being able to infuse a slight tone of sarcasm into her voice. "Yes, that's true, in the afternoon, of course. I had to listen to half an opera." "Oh? How was that, then?" "There was a young composer with me--a very talented fellow, in his own way." She was very glad to hear that. So that, then, was the way in which he spent his afternoons. He stood still and, without letting go her arm, looked into her face. "Do you know that you have really grown much prettier? Yes, I am quite serious about it! But, tell me, first of all, tell me candidly, how the idea came to you to write to me." "Why, I have already told you." "Have you thought of me, then, all this time?" "A great deal." "When you were married, too?" "Certainly, I have always thought of you. And you?" "Often, very often." "But ..." "Well, what?"