The man's anger had not yet cooled. Kate must really have lost her senses. Why did she take the boy away from the punishment he so richly deserved? He approached the boy once more with a hard: "Well, really, Kate I'm not going to condone this." Then she fled with him to the door and pushed him outside, bolted it and then placed herself in front of it, as though to bar her husband's egress. Now Wolfgang had gone. They were both alone now, she and her husband, and with a cry full of reproach: "You had almost betrayed it to him," she tottered to the sofa. She fell rather than sat down on it, and broke out in hopeless weeping. Paul Schlieben strode up and down the room. He had indeed almost allowed himself to be carried away by his indignation. But would it have been a misfortune if he had told the boy about it? Let him know where he came from, and that he had nothing, really nothing whatever to do there. That he received everything as a favour. It was absolutely unnecessary--in fact, more prejudicial than desirable--to keep it a secret from him. But if she would not allow it on any account! He interrupted his walk to and fro, remained standing before his wife, who was weeping in the corner of the sofa, and looked down at her. He felt so extremely sorry for her. That was the reward for all her kindness, her unselfishness, for all her devotion! He laid his hand softly on her drooping head without saying a word. Then she started up suddenly and caught hold of his hand: "And don't do anything to him, please. Don't hit him. It's my fault--he guessed it. I did not like her, I gave her notice, and then I sent her away secretly--only because he loved her, only for that reason. I feared her. Paul, Paul"--she wrung her hands repentantly--"oh, Paul, I stand abashed before the child, I stand abashed before myself." Wolfgang was sitting huddled up in his room, holding the pictures of the saints in his hand. Those were now his most costly, his only possessions; a precious memory. Where could she be now? Still in the Grunewald? Already in Berlin? Or much further? Oh, how he longed for her. He missed the friendly face that was always smiling secretly at him, and his longing for her increased until he could not bear it any longer. There was no one there who loved him as she did whom he loved as he had loved her. Now that Cilia was gone he forgot that he had often laughed at her and played tricks on her, and had also quarrelled with her in a boyish manner. His longing for her grew and grew, and her figure grew as well. It became so large and so strong, so powerful that it took his eyes away from everything else that still surrounded him. He threw himself on the carpet and dug his fingers into it; he had to hold himself in that manner, otherwise he would have broken everything to bits, everything, big and small. That was his father's step on the stairs. He shook the door-handle. Let him shake it. Wolfgang had locked himself in. "Open at once!"