ou angry with me?"

"Angry? Why should I be?"

"Oh, I only thought you might be." She did not want to give any
explanation, besides it was hardly necessary, for she had the
impression that he, too, felt that they themselves would be on better,
pleasanter, more cordial and more united terms with each other
in the future. Oh yes, if they were on better terms with him--the
boy--then he and she would also be on better terms with each other.

The elderly woman was seized with a great longing for the days when
they loved each other. She felt ashamed of herself, but she could not
help it, she stretched out her hand to the bed that stood next to hers:
"Give me your hand, Paul."

And as she groped about in the dark, she found his hand that was
searching for hers. They clasped hands.

"Good night, dear husband."

"Good night, dear wife."

They fell asleep thus.

Wolfgang stood at the window of his room, looking out into the
obscurity that hid all the stars and listening to the roar of the
distant wind. Was the night so sultry, or was it only he who was so
unbearably hot? A thunder-storm seemed to be coming on. Or was it only
an inward restlessness that weighed him down? What was it that tortured
him?

He thought he had hardly ever felt so uncomfortable before. He was
vexed with his father, vexed with his mother--if they had been
different from what they were, if everything had been different from
what it was, he would not have been obliged to tell lies, to dissemble.
He was vexed with himself. Oh, then he would have felt easier now, much
freer. He knit his brows angrily; a sudden longing for something he
could not name made him tremble. What did he want, what was he longing
for? If he only knew!

He gave a loud sigh, and stretched his arms with the strong hands
out into the night. Everything was so narrow, so narrow. If he only
were the boy again who had once climbed out of this window, yes, this
window--he leant out and measured the height--who had run
away, hurrah! without asking himself where he was going, simply on and
on. That had been magnificent! A splendid run!

And he leant further and further out of the window. The night wind
was whispering, it was like an alluring melody. He trembled with
eagerness. He could not tear himself away, he had to remain there
listening. The wind was rising, there was a rustling in the trees, it
rose and rose, grew and grew. The rustling turned into a
blustering.

He forgot