"You think so? It would be almost better if she did," replied Anna softly, "for as a matter of fact, it was more like squeaking than singing. But anyway," and she threw George a look which, as it were, welcomed him afresh, "the songs you sent me are very nice. Shall I sing them to you?" "You've had a look at the things already? That is nice of you." Anna had got up. She put both her hands on her temples and stroked her wavy hair gently, as though making it tidy. It was done fairly high, so that her figure seemed even taller than it actually was. A narrow golden watch-chain was twined twice round her bare neck, fell down over her bosom, and vanished in her grey leather belt. With an almost imperceptible nod of her head she asked George to accompany her. He got up and said, "If you don't mind...." "Not at all, not at all, of course not," said Herr Rosner. "Very kind of you, Baron, to do a little music with my daughter. Very nice, very nice." Anna had stepped into the next room. George followed her and left the door open. The white tulle curtains were pinned together in front of the open window and fluttered slightly. George sat down at the cottage-piano and struck a few chords. Meanwhile, Anna knelt down in front of an old black partly gilded whatnot, and got out the music. George modulated the first chords of his song. Anna joined in and sang to George's song the Goethean words, Deinem Blick mich zu bequemen, Deinem Munde, deiner Brust, Deine Stimme zu vernehmen, War mir erst' und letzte Lust. She stood behind him and looked over his shoulder at the music. At times she bent a little forward, and he then felt the breath of her lips upon his temples. Her voice was much more beautiful than he remembered its having ever been before. They were speaking rather too loudly in the next room. Without stopping singing Anna shut the door. It had been Josef who had been unable to control his voice any longer. "I'll just pop in to the café for a jiffy," he said. There was no answer. Herr Rosner drummed gently on the table and his wife nodded with apparent indifference. "Goodbye then." Josef turned round again at the door and said fairly resolutely: "Oh, mamma, if you've got a minute to spare by any chance----" "I'm listening," said Frau Rosner. "It's not a secret, I suppose." "No. It's only that I've got a running account with you already." "Is it necessary to go to the café?" asked old Rosner simply, without looking up. "It's not a question of the café. The fact is ... you can take it from me that I'd prefer myself not to have to borrow from you. But what is a man to do?" "A man should work," said old Rosner gently, painfully, and his eyes reddened. His wife threw a sad and reproachful look at her son. "Well," said Josef, unbuttoning his office coat, and then buttoning it up again--"that really is ... for every single gulden-note----"