o run
from the chair to the next halting-place. "Come, Woelfchen, come." And
she brought him past in safety.

At last they were in his room. "Thank God, thank God!" she
stammered, when she had got him on the bed. She was as pale as the lad,
whose face with its silly expression grew more and more livid as the
day dawned. Ah, that was the same room in which she had once, many
years ago--it was exceedingly long ago!--fought for the child's
precious life with fear and trembling, where she had crawled before
God's omnipotence like a worm: only let him live, O God, only let him
live! Alas, it would have been better had he died then.

As an arrow shot from a too tight bow whizzes along as quick as
lightning, so that thought whizzed through her mind. She was horrified
at the thought, she could not forgive herself for having had it, but
she could not get rid of it again. She stood with shaking knees,
terrified at her own heartlessness, and still the thought came: if only
he had died at the time, it would have been better. This--this was also
the room in which she had tried on the suit the boy, who was growing so
fast, was to wear at his confirmation. Now she drew off the grown-up
man's clothes, tore off his dinner jacket, his fine trousers--as well
as she could in his present state of complete unconsciousness--and
unlaced his glace shoes.

Where had he been? A smell of cigarettes and scent and the dregs of
wine streamed from him; it almost took her breath away. There hung the
same looking-glass in which she had seen the brown boy's face near
her fair woman's face, fresh and round-cheeked, a little coarse, a
little defiant, but still so nice-looking in its vigorous strength, so
dear in its innocence. And now--?

Her eyes glanced at the livid face with the open mouth, from which
the breath reeking with spirits came with a snore and a rattle, in the
glass, and then at her own terrified, exhausted face, on which all the
softness had been changed into hard lines that grief had worn. A
shudder passed through her; she smoothed the untidy grey strands of
hair away from her forehead with her cold hand; her eyes blinked as
though she wanted to weep. But she forced her tears back; she must not
cry any more now; that time was over.

She stood some time longer in the centre of the room, motionless,
with bated breath, letting her tired arms hang down loosely; then she
crept on her toes to the door. He was sleeping quite firmly. She lock