Now he was better again. Their old friend's medicines had had a good effect, and Wolfgang had gone through a regular cure: baths, friction, massage, special diet. Now they could be quite satisfied with the result. It was especially the strictly regular life that had done him good; his weight had increased, his eyes were brighter, his complexion fresher. They were all full of hope--all except one. That one had no wish to live any longer. The month of April was raw and stormy, quite exceptionally cold. It was impossible for the convalescent to be as much in the open air as was desirable, especially as any exercise that would warm him, such as tennis, cycling, riding, was still too tiring for him. The doctor proposed to send him to the Riviera. Even if there were only a few weeks left before it would be too hot there, that would suffice. His father was at once willing for the young fellow to go. If it would do him good of course he must go. Kate offered to accompany him. "But why, my dear lady? The youngster can quite well go alone," the doctor assured her. However, she insisted on it, she would go with him. It was not because she still feared she might lose him; it was her duty to do so, she must accompany him even if she had not wished to. And at the same time a faint desire began to stir in her, too, unknown to herself. She was so well acquainted with the south--should they go to Sestri, for example? She looked inquiringly at her husband. Had they not once spent some perfectly delightful days on the coast near Spezia? There, near the blue sea, where the large stone pines are greener and give more shade than the palms further south, where there is something crisp and refreshing in the air in spite of its mildness, where there is nothing relaxing in the climate but everything is vivifying. He smiled; of course they could go there. He was so pleased that his wife's enthusiasm was not quite a thing of the past. Wolfgang rummaged about in his room for a long time on the afternoon before their departure. Kate, who feared he might exert himself too much whilst packing, had sent Friedrich to assist him. But the latter soon came downstairs again: "The young gentleman wishes to do it alone." When Wolfgang had put the last things into his trunk he looked round his room thoughtfully. He had grown up there, he had so often looked upon the room as a cage, would he ever return to it? _Here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come._ The text he had received at his confirmation hung on the wall opposite him in a beautiful frame. He had not read it for a long time. Now he read it again, smiling slightly, a little scornfully and a little sadly. Yes, he would flutter back into it. He had got used to the cage. And now he resolved to do something more as the very last thing--to go to Frida.