She was on board. He waved to her, went on waving as long as he could see her. When he turned to go home Victoria was standing behind him; she too held her handkerchief in the air and waved to Camilla. "I came a little too late," she said. He did not answer. What was he to say? Condole with her loss, congratulate her, press her hand? Her voice was so toneless and her face showed such distraction, a tragic experience had left its mark there. People were leaving the pier. "Your eye is still red," she said, as she began to walk away. She looked round for him. He was standing still. Then all at once she turned round and went up to him. "Otto is dead," she said in a hard voice, and her eyes were burning. "You don't say a word, you are so superior. He was a hundred thousand times better than you, do you hear? Do you know how he died? He was shot, his whole head was blown to pieces, his whole silly little head. He was a hundred thousand...." She burst into sobs and began to walk towards home with long, despairing steps. * * * * * Late that evening there was a knock at the Miller's door; Johannes opened it and looked out; Victoria stood outside and beckoned to him. He followed her. She seized his hand impetuously and led him up to the road; her hand was icy cold. "Sit down, won't you?" he said. "Sit down and rest a little. You are so exhausted." They sat down. She murmured: "What must you think of me, never leaving you in peace!" "You are very unhappy," he said. "Now you must obey me and calm yourself, Victoria. Can I help you in any way?"