He saw it, and that put him still more out of humour. "Never mind, don't try. Don't force yourself to smile." He sat down at the table with a weary movement. But his hunger did not seem to be so great, after all, as he only helped himself in a spiritless manner when the steaming dishes were brought in and placed in front of him, and ate in the same manner without knowing what he was eating. The dining-room was much too large for the two lonely people; the handsome room looked uncomfortably empty on that cool evening in autumn. The woman shivered with cold. "We shall have to start heating the house," said the man. That was all that was said during the meal. After it was over he got up to go across to his study. He wanted to smoke there, the room was smaller and cosier; he did not notice that his wife's eyes had never left him. If Paul would only tell her what he thought of Wolfgang staying away! Where could Wolfgang be now? She became entirely absorbed in her wandering thoughts, and hardly noticed that she was alone in the cold empty room. She had a book in front of her, a book the whole world found interesting--an acquaintance had said to her: "I could not stop reading it; I had so much to think about, but I forgot everything owing to the book"--but it did not make her forget anything. She felt as though she were in great trouble, and that that was making her dull. Even duller, more indifferent to outward things than at the time of her father's and mother's deaths. She had read so much in those years of mourning, and with special interest, as though the old poems had been given to her anew and the new ones were a cheering revelation. She could not read anything now, could not follow another's thoughts. She clung to her own thoughts. True, her eyes flew over the page, but when she got to the bottom she did not know what she had read. It was an intolerable condition. Oh, owh much she would have liked to have taken an interest in something. What would she not have given only to be able to laugh heartily for once; she had never experienced a similar longing for cheerfulness, gaiety and humour before. Oh, what a relief it would have been for her if she could have laughed and cried. Now she could not laugh, but--alas!--not cry either, and that was the worst: her eyes remained dry. But the tears of sorrow she had not wept burnt her heart and wore out her life with their unshed salty moisture.