ould he say--she had stopped involuntarily--what would he say
now? The secret of his birth for which he had fought full of longing,
fought strenuously--oh, what scenes those had been!--would now be
revealed to him.

She leant towards him involuntarily, ready to support him.

Then he yawned again: "Must it really be now, mater? There's plenty
of time to-morrow. The fact is, I am dead beat. Good night." And he
wheeled round, leaving her where she was, and went out of the room and
up the stairs to his bedroom.

She stood there quite rigid. Then she put her hand up to her head:
what, what was it? She must not have understood him properly, she must
be deaf, blind or beside herself. Or he must be deaf, blind or beside
himself. She had gone up to him with her heart in her mouth, she had
held out her hand, she had wanted to speak to him about his birth--and
he? He had yawned--had gone away, it evidently did not interest him in
the slightest. And here, here, in this very room--it was not yet four
years ago--he had stood almost on the same spot in the black clothes he
had worn at his confirmation--almost as tall as he was now, only with a
rounder, more childish face--and had screamed aloud: "Mother, mother,
where is my mother?" And now he no longer wanted to know anything?

It was impossible, she could not have understood him aright or he
not her. She must follow him, at once, without delay. It seemed to her
that she must not neglect a moment.

She hurried noiselessly up the stairs in her grey dress. She saw her
shadow gliding along in the dull light the electric bulb cast on the
staircase-wall, but she smiled: no, she was not sorrow personified
gliding along like a ghost any longer. Her heart was filled with
nothing but joy, hope and confidence, for she was bringing him
something good, nothing but good.

She went into his room without knocking, in great haste and without
reflecting on what she was doing. He was already in bed, he was just
going to put out the light. She sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Wolfgang," she said gently. And as he gazed at her in surprise with
a look that was almost unfriendly, her voice sounded still softer: "My
son."

"Yes--what's the matter now?"

He was really annoyed, she noticed it in the impatient tone of his
voice, and then she suddenly lost courage. Oh, if he looked at her like
that, so coldly, and if his voice sounded so repellent, how difficult
it was to find the right word. But