But he remained standing as though he did not see those outstretched arms; his brows were contracted, he only looked at the man. "I know very well that you are my father, but she"--he cast a quick sidelong glance at her--"she's not my mother." "Who says that?" Kate shrieked it. "Everybody." "No, nobody. That's not true. It's a lie, a lie! You are my child, my son, our son I And the one who denies that lies, deceives, slanders!----" "Kate!" Her husband looked at her very gravely, and there was a reproach in his voice and a warning. "Kate!" And then he turned to the boy, who stood there so sullenly, almost defiantly--drawn up to his full height, with one foot outstretched, his head thrown back--and said: "Your mother is naturally very much agitated, you must take care of her--to-day especially. Go now, and to-morrow we will----" "No, no!" Kate did not let him finish speaking, she cried in the greatest excitement: "No, don't postpone it. Let him speak--now--let him. And answer him--now--at once that he is our son, our son alone. Wolfgang--Woelfchen!" She used the old pet name from his childhood again for the first time for months. "Woelfchen, don't you love us any more? Woelfchen, come to me." She stretched out her arms to him once more, but he did not see those longing, loving, outstretched arms again. He was very pale and his eyes were fixed on the ground. "Woelfchen, come." "I cannot." His face never moved, and his voice had still the same monotonous tone which sounded so terrible to her. She sobbed aloud, and her eyes clung to her husband--he must help her now. But he looked at her with a frown; she could plainly read the reproach in his face: "Why did you not follow my advice? Had we told him in time--" No, she would not find any help in him either. And now--what was it Paul was saying now? Her eyes dilated with a sudden fear, she grasped the arms of her chair with both hands, she wanted to sink back and still she started up to ward off what must come now Was Paul out of his mind? He was saying: "You are not our son." "Not your son?" The boy stammered. He had made up his mind that nothing should disconcert him, but this answer disconcerted him all the same. It bewildered him; he turned red, then white, and his eyes wandered uncertainly from the man to the woman, from the woman to the man. So he, too--that man--was not his father either? But Frau Laemke had said so? Oh, so he wanted to disown him now? He looked suspiciously at the man, and then something that resembled mortification arose within him. If he were not his father, then he had really no--no right whatever to be there? And, drawing a step nearer, he said hastily: "You must be my father. You only don't want to say it now. But she"--he gave a curt nod in the direction of the chair--"she's not my mother." His eyes gleamed; then he added, drawing a long breath as though it were a relief: "I've always known that."