The mother made inquiries about her son's doings with a sagacity that would have done credit to a policeman. Had her husband had any idea of how often--at any time of the day or evening--his wife wandered round the house where Wolfgang had his rooms, he would have opposed it most strenuously. Her burning desire to hear from Wolfgang, to know something about him, made Kate forget her own dignity. When she knew he was absent she had gone up to his rooms more than once, nominally to bring him this or that; but when she found herself alone there--she knew how to get rid of his garrulous landlady--she would rush about in both his rooms inspecting everything, would examine the things on his writing-table, even turn over every bit of paper. She was never conscious of what she was doing as long as she was there, but on going down the stairs again she felt how she had humiliated herself; she turned scarlet and felt demeaned in her own eyes, and promised herself faithfully never, never to do it again. And still she did it again. It was torture to her, and yet she could not leave it off. It was a cold day in winter--already evening, not late according to Berlin notions, but still time for closing the shops, and the theatres and concerts had commenced long ago--and Kate was still sitting in her son's rooms. He had not been to the villa to see her for a week--why not? A great anxiety had suddenly taken possession of her that day, she had felt obliged to go to him. Her husband imagined she had gone to see one of Hauptmann's pieces played for the first time--and she could also go there later on, for surely Wolfgang must soon come home now. In answer to her letter of inquiry he had written that he had a cold, and stopped at home in the evenings. Well, she certainly did not want him to come out to her and catch fresh cold, but it was surely natural that she should go to see him. She made excuses to herself. And so she waited and waited. The time passed very slowly. She had come towards seven o'clock, now it was already nine. She had carefully inspected both rooms a good many times, had stood at the window looking down absently at the throng in the streets, had sat down, got up and sat down again. Now she walked up and down restlessly, anxiously. The landlady had already come in several times and found something to do; her inquisitive scrutinising glances would have annoyed Kate at any other time, but now she took no notice of them. She could not make up her mind to go yet--if he were ill why did he not come home? Her anxiety increased. Something weighed on her mind like a premonition of coming evil. She would really have to ask the landlady now--it was already ten o'clock--if he always came home so late in spite of his cold. She rang for the woman. She came, inwardly much annoyed. Why had Frau Schlieben not confided in her long ago? Hm, she would have to wait now, the stuck-up person.