"Nothing," he answered roughly. "Excuse me, I must say good-night." He bowed stiffly. All grew dark before his eyes. He saw dimly that the lady had risen. For a moment she stood perplexed. Then she said in a much softer voice: "But won't you see me home to-night, Herr Reimers?" "I am at your service," he answered. Landsberg hastened to take his departure, and the two followed him slowly. Black clouds lowered overhead; now and then a gust of wind swept over the fields. Reimers quickened his pace. Once only Hannah Gropphusen broke the silence: "You have hurt your hand?" she asked. "Yes--no--I don't know." It was almost dark when they reached her garden gate. "Show me your hand," she said gently. Reimers held it out to her in silence. His wrist was a good deal swollen. Hannah bent down suddenly and breathed a hasty kiss on the injured member. When she raised her head again tears were running down her cheeks. Reimers stooped a little. He seized her cool white fingers and kissed them lingeringly. "Hannah!" he murmured. She tenderly stroked his brow and bent her head sadly. Then he left her. When he had gone some distance he looked back. All was dark. A flash of lightning shimmered on the horizon. It revealed an indistinct figure, which was instantly swallowed up again by the darkness. "Nothing much, old man," pronounced the surgeon-major, when he had examined the injury. "You have strained it a bit. A tight bandage and an application of arnica. You can go on duty, but you will not be able to play tennis for the present." In any case there would have been an end to that, as the order to start for the practice-camp had already been issued. Reimers learnt from his comrades that Frau von Gropphusen appeared no more at the tennis club. It was said that she was not well and was going away to some watering-place or other. There was much chuckling over the news. "There has been a split," opined the gossips. Reimers did not care. He knew better. But the quartette at the supper-table in Waisenhaus Strasse did not seem displeased with the way in which things had turned out. Formerly, if he came late to supper, and excused himself on the plea of having been detained at tennis, there had been a fatal air of constraint, which would only gradually wear off; sometimes even lasting the whole evening. Now they received him at once with their old cordiality; they did not believe in his sprain, taking it to be but a convenient pretext. He made as much of it as he could. He showed the swelling; but, to be sure, it had nearly gone down, and he still was not believed. Finally, an amazing thing happened. Frau Kläre had been taking a turn in the garden one evening with Marie Falkenhein, when she was called in to her baby. On his way out, Reimers encountered the colonel's daughter alone. He said good-night to her politely.