She ran hastily across to her sitting-room. She kept the certificate of his baptism and the deed of surrender they had got from his native village in her writing-desk there; she had not even trusted the papers to her husband. Now she brought them out and put them ready. She would have to show him that everything was as she said. The papers rustled in her trembling hands, but she repressed her agitation. She must be calm, quite calm and sensible; she must throw down the castle in the air she had built for herself and that had not turned out as in her dreams, knowing fully what she was doing. But even if this castle in the air collapsed, could not something be saved from the ruins? Something good rise from them? He would be grateful to her, he must be grateful to her. And that was the good that would rise. She folded her hands over the common paper on which the evidence was written, and quivering sighs escaped from her breast that were like prayers. O God, help me! O God, help me! But if he did not understand her property, if she did not find the words that must be found? If she should lose him thereby? She was overcome with terror, she turned pale, and stretched out her hands gropingly like one who requires a support. But she remained erect. Then rather lose him than that he should be lost. For--and tears such as she had not been able to weep for a long, long time, dropped from her eyes and relieved her--she still loved him, after all, loved him more than she had considered possible. So she waited for him. And even if she had to wait until dawn and if he came home drunk again--more drunk than the first time--she would still wait for him. She must tell him that day. She was burning to tell him. Paul Schlieben had gone to bed long ago. He was vexed with his wife, had only stuck his head into the room and given a little nod: "Good night," and gone upstairs. But she walked up and down the room downstairs with slow steps. That tired her physically, but gave her mind rest and thereby strength. When she went to meet Wolfgang in the hall on hearing him close the door, her delicate figure looked as though it had grown, it was so straight and erect. The house slept with all in it, only he and she were still awake. They were never so alone, so undisturbed nowadays. The time had come. And she held out her hand to him, which she would not have done on any other occasion had he come so late--thank God, he was not drunk!--and approached her face to his and kissed him on the cheek: "Good evening, my son." He was no doubt somewhat taken aback at this reception, but his sunken eyes with the black lines under them looked past her indifferently. He was terribly tired--one could see--or was he ill? But all that would soon be better now. Kate seized hold of his hand once more full of the joyful hope that had been awakened in her, and drew him after her into her room.