Throughout the town Herr Klingemann was known as a man to whom nothing was sacred, and as he stood before her, Bertha could not help thinking of the various bits of gossip that she had heard about him. It was well known that his relations with his cook, whom he always referred to as his housekeeper, were of a somewhat more intimate nature than that merely of master and servant, and his name was also mentioned in connexion with the wife of a tobacconist, who, as he had himself told Bertha with proud regret, deceived him with a captain of the regiment stationed in the town. Moreover, there were several eligible girls in the neighbourhood who cherished a certain tender interest in him. Whenever these things were hinted at Herr Klingemann always made some sneering remark on the subject of marriage in general, which shocked the susceptibilities of many, but, on the whole, actually increased the amount of respect in which he was held. "I have been out for a short walk," said Bertha. "Alone?" "Oh, no; with my boy." "Yes--yes--of course, there he is! Good evening, my little mortal!"--he gazed away over Fritz's head as he said this--"may I sit down for a moment beside you, Frau Bertha?" He pronounced her name with an ironic inflection and, without waiting for her to reply, he sat down on the bench. "I heard you playing the piano this morning," he continued. "Do you know what kind of an impression it made upon me? This: that with you music must take the place of everything." He repeated the word "everything" and, at the same time, looked at Bertha in a manner which caused her to blush. "What a pity I so seldom have the opportunity of hearing you play!" he went on. "If I don't happen to be passing your open window when you are at the piano--" Bertha noticed that he kept on edging nearer to her, and that his arm was touching hers. Involuntarily she moved away. Suddenly she felt herself seized from behind, her head pulled back over the bench and a hand clasped over her eyes. For a moment she thought that it was Klingemann's hand, which she felt upon her lids. "Why, you must be mad, sir," she cried. "How funny it is to hear you call me 'Sir,' Aunt Bertha!" replied the laughing voice of a boy at her back. "Well, do let me at least open my eyes, Richard," said Bertha, trying to remove the boy's hands from her face. "Have you come from home!" she added, turning round towards him. "Yes, Aunt, and here's the newspaper which I have brought you." Bertha took the paper which he handed to her and began to read it. Klingemann, meanwhile, rose to his feet and turned to Richard. "Have you done your exercises already?" he asked. "We have no exercises at all now, Herr Klingemann, because our final examination is to take place in July." "So you will actually be a student by this time next year?" "This time next year! It'll be in the autumn!" As he said this Richard drummed his fingers along the newspaper.