She inclined her head speechlessly and sat down. They noticed that her hands were trembling. The doctor motioned his companions to resume their seats. He himself remained standing, his back to the fireplace, his form hiding the clock on the mantelpiece from the eyes of the woman had she looked up. He smiled at her in a reassuring manner, as she waited dumbly for him to state the reason for his summons. “We are very much interested in your collection of porcelain, _gnädige Frau_,” he said, smoothly. “It is French, is it not?” A sudden expression of alarm flitted into her eyes, was banished. She nodded her head. “_Ja--ja, mein Herr_,” she answered hesitatingly. She moistened her lips. Her hands gripped each other tightly upon her lap. The battalion-commander and the captain observed her with a quickened interest. Despite their ignorance of German, the word “_Porzelän_” gave them the clue to their comrade’s opening question. “It is the result of many years’ gradual acquisition, I presume?” he pursued, in a casual tone. She shot an upward glance at him from under her eyebrows ere she replied. “_Ja--mein Herr._” “It is well chosen,” said the doctor. “I congratulate you on your knowledge and good taste. Perhaps you would explain some of the pieces to us--pieces I do not recognize?” She looked up at him with wide and innocent eyes. “I cannot, _mein Herr_. I know nothing about porcelain. It was my husband’s collection. I keep it in memory of him.” There was an accent of sincerity in the last phrase which drew a sharp glance from the doctor. “Ah,” he said quietly. “He was killed, was he not?” Her eyes filled with tears, her mouth twitched. “Killed in one of the very last battles, _mein Herr_.” She drew a long sobbing breath and looked wildly at him. “_Ach Gott!_ do not remind me! do not remind me!” she cried. “He was all I had in the world--everything--everything! You do not know how good and kind and loving he was! And now he is gone--he will never come back--never--never! And I loved him so!” She broke down into sobs, hiding her face in her hands. The doctor waited until the crisis had subsided. A diagnosis of hysteria formed itself in his professional mind. “So you have no real interest in this collection?” he enquired. “Would you sell it?” “_Ach, nein--nein_!” she answered. “I keep it in memory of him, my Heinrich, who loved it so.--I feel him here when I dust it and care for it.” She looked wildly round the room. “I feel him here now!” The doctor nodded his head in courteous assent to a possibility. “Did he inherit it?” he asked casually, as though merely pursuing a conversation which could not, in politeness, be allowed to cease on a note of distress. She shook her head. “Ah, he bought it?” She moistened her lips nervously ere she replied. “Yes.” “Before the war?” Her face hardened as she answered again. “Yes.” There was a moment of silence and then the doctor changed his position slightly before the mantelpiece.