Ah yes! so you told me. Oh, he’s full of talent, there’s no doubt of that! It was a pleasure to teach him. MRS BUCHNER. Yes! and he looks back with such affection on the time when his little mother gave him his first lessons. MRS SCHOLZ. Does he?—Good Lord, yes! those were pleasant times. Then I used to think—every thing turns out differently—Oh! I’m so agitated! MRS BUCHNER. So agitated?—What about? MRS SCHOLZ. Why—about his coming—how does he look now—really? MRS BUCHNER. Well—strong—healthy. You’ll be proud of your son. MRS SCHOLZ. I’m really surprised that the boy’s coming. It’s gone to my heart many a time. And the notepaper he’s cost me—and never once answered his old mother: how have you brought him to it? That’s what I can’t understand—that I _can’t_ understand. MRS BUCHNER. I?—Oh! no! it was Ida who persuaded him. MRS SCHOLZ. Robert doesn’t trouble himself much about us either, but at least he comes once a year at Christmas time for a few days: that’s not much to be grateful for—but William—six whole years he’s not been here—neither he nor my husband—for six whole years. Does she get on with him? MRS BUCHNER. Ida?—Very well in every way. MRS SCHOLZ. Well, that’s extraordinary. You simply can’t imagine _how_ reserved the boy always was—just like his father. No playfellows, no school friends,—nothing. MRS BUCHNER. Yes, yes, that’s how he was with us at first. He never would come near the house, except for the music-lesson. MRS SCHOLZ. Later, though, he came? MRS BUCHNER. Well,—yes. He said we mustn’t worry him, and when he felt able he’d come of his own accord. We had the sense to let him have his own way, and sure enough, after waiting for him half a year, in fact,—when we’d given up waiting, he came—and afterwards, day after day, little by little, he became quite different. MRS SCHOLZ. You must have bewitched him—his engagement alone—that’s what I can’t get over. MRS BUCHNER. You must know how to manage with artists. I’ve learnt that—my dear husband was one. MRS SCHOLZ. And that—business—with his father? Has he confided that to you, too? MRS BUCHNER. N-n-o, dear friend. You see that’s the one, only, point—the one thing he can’t yet bring himself to—but you may believe me, the remembrance is terribly painful to him—is still—to this very day. And certainly not less so because he _has_ kept it to himself. At all costs he must get over that, even in this matter too. MRS SCHOLZ.