I went out one evening, for there was good weather and darkness for walking; there was neither a moon nor stars. The gentle ripple of the little Reisa river was all the sound I heard; there were God and Goethe and _über allen Gipfeln ist Ruh'_ that night. On my return, I was in the mood to walk softly and on tiptoe, so I undressed and went to bed in the dark. Then they came again to my window, those two lunatics, the lady and the actor. What next? But it was not he that chose this spot; of that I was sure. She chose it because she was convinced I had returned. There was something she _wanted_ me to hear. Why should I listen to him still pleading with her? "I've had enough of this," he said. "I'm leaving tomorrow." "Oh, well...." she said. "No, let's not tonight," she added suddenly; "some other time. Yes? In a few days? We'll talk about it tomorrow. Good night." For the first time it struck me: she wants to rouse you, too, settled man though you are; she wants to make you as mad as the others! That's what she's after! And now I remember, before the lawyer arrived, when there was Tradesman Batt--I remember how during his first few days here, she would give me a kind word or a look that was quite out of the picture, and as unmistakable as her pride would permit. No, she had no objections to seeing old age wriggle. And listen to this: before this she had been intent to show a well-behaved indifference to sex, but that was finished; was she not at this moment resisting only faintly, and raising definite hopes? "Not tonight, but some other time," she had said. Yes, a half-refusal, a mere postponement, that I was meant to hear. She was corrupt, but she was also cunning, with the cunning of a madman. So corrupt. Dear child, Pharaoh laughs before his pyramids; standing before his pyramids he laughs. He would laugh at me, too. * * * * * Next day we three remaining guests were sitting in the living room. The lady and the actor read one book; I read another. "Will you," she says to him, "do me a great favor?" "With pleasure." "Would you go out in the grounds where we sat yesterday and fetch my galoshes?" So he went out to do her this great favor. He sang a well-known popular song as he crossed the yard, cheerful in his own peculiar way. She turned to me. "You seem silent." "Do I?" "Yes, you're very silent." "Listen to this," I said, and began to read to her from the book I held in my hands. I read a longish bit. She tried to interrupt me several times, and at length said impatiently: "What is this you want me to listen to?" "The _Musketeers_. You must admit it's entertaining." "I've read it," she said. And then she began to clasp her hands and drag them apart again.