She gazed at him all the time with a look at once pained and reflective, which affected him like a look of doubt. Had she not once believed in him! Had she not spoken those words of trust and tenderness to him in a twilight church: "I will pray to Heaven that you become a great artist"? He felt again as though she did not think anything like as much of him as in days gone by. He felt troubled and asked her uncertainly: "You'll allow me, of course, to send you my violin sonata as soon as it is finished? You know I don't value anybody else's criticism as much as I do yours." And he thought: If I could only just keep her as a friend ... or win her over again ... as a friend ... is it possible? She said: "You have also spoken to me about a few new fantasies you have written just for the pianoforte." "Quite right; but they are not yet quite ready. But there's another one which I ... which I ..." he himself found his hesitations foolish--"composed last summer by the lake where that poor girl was drowned, Heinrich's mistress you know, which you don't know yet either. Couldn't I ... I'll play it to you quite gently; would you like me to?" She nodded and shut the door. There, just behind him, she stood motionless as he began. And he played. He played the little piece with all its passionate melancholy which he had composed by that lake of his, when Anna and the child had been completely forgotten. It was a great relief to him that he could play it to her. She must be bound to understand the message of these notes. It was impossible for her not to understand. He heard himself as it were speaking in the notes; he felt as though it was only now that he understood himself. Farewell, my love, farewell. It was very beautiful. And now it is over ... farewell, my love.... We have lived through what was fated for both of us. And whatever the future may hold for me and for you we shall always mean something to each other which we can neither of us ever forget. And now my life goes another way.... And yours too. It must be over ... I have loved you. I kiss your eyes.... I thank you, you kind, gentle, silent one. Farewell, my love ... farewell.... The notes died away. He had not looked up from the keys while he was playing: he now turned slowly round. She stood behind him solemn and with lips which quivered slightly. He caught her hands and kissed them. "Anna, Anna ..." he exclaimed. He felt as if his heart would break. "Don't quite forget me," she said softly. "I'll write to you as soon as I'm there again." She nodded. "And you'll write to me, too, Anna ... everything ... everything ... you understand?" She nodded again. "And ... and ... I'll see you again early to-morrow."