"He certainly is. But circumstances will compel him and he will break away and free himself, at the worst like a fox out of a trap. It is painful and a bit of one's life is left behind. But the main thing is to get out again--out, out and free. Long live Katherine! And Rienaecker! What does the proverb say? 'God helps those who help themselves.'" CHAPTER IX That evening Botho wrote to Lena that he would come on the following day, perhaps even earlier than usual. And he kept his word and arrived an hour before sunset. Naturally he found Frau Doerr there. The air was very fine and not too warm, and after they had talked a while, Botho said: "Perhaps we could go into the garden." "Yes, either into the garden or somewhere else?" "What do you mean?" Lena laughed. "Don't be worried again, Botho. There is no one hiding in ambush and the lady with the pair of white horses and the wreaths of flowers will not cross your path." "Then where shall we go, Lena?" "Just out in the green meadows where you will have nothing but daisies and me. And perhaps Frau Doerr, too, if she will be so good as to go with us." "Will she?" said Frau Doerr. "Surely she will. I feel much honored. But I must put myself to rights a little. I will be with you again directly." "There is no need, Frau Doerr; we will call for you." And so the plan was carried out, and as the young couple walked across the garden a quarter of an hour later, Frau Doerr was already standing at the door, a wrap on her arm and a marvellous hat on her head, a present from Doerr, who, like all misers, would buy something absurdly expensive once in a while. Botho said something complimentary to the rather overdressed lady, and all three walked down the path and went out by a hidden side door and reached a little path, which before it led further and curved out into the open green fields ran along by the outer side of the garden fence where the nettles grew high. "We will follow this path," said Lena. "It is the prettiest and the most solitary. No one comes here." And certainly it was the loneliest path, far more silent and solitary than three or four other roads that ran parallel with it over the meadows towards Wilmersdorf and showed something of their own sort of suburban life. On one of these roads there were a good many sheds, between which there were horizontal bars somewhat like those used by gymnasts. These aroused Botho's curiosity, but before he could ask about them, the work going on answered his question: rugs and carpets were spread out on the frames and immediately began such a beating and banging with big sticks that a cloud of dust rose and nearly concealed the road.