ate,
too late. She had spoken too late, and now he did not want to hear
anything more about it, nothing more whatever.

In her dull wretchedness the words "too late" hurt her soul as if
they had been branded on it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Kate had no longer the courage to revert again to what she had
wanted to confess to Wolfgang that night. Besides, what was the good?
She had the vivid feeling that there was no getting at him any more,
that he could not be helped any more. But she felt weighed down as
though she had committed a terrible crime. And the feeling of this
great crime made her gentler towards him than she would
otherwise have been; she felt called upon to make excuses for his
actions both to herself and her husband.

Paul Schlieben was very dissatisfied with Wolfgang. "If only I
knew where he's always wandering about. I suppose he's at home at
night--eh?"

An involuntary sound from his wife had interrupted him, now he
looked at her inquiringly. But she did not change countenance in the
slightest, she only gave an affirmative nod. So the husband relied upon
his wife.

And now the last days of autumn had come, which are often so warm
and beautiful, more beautiful than summer. Everybody streamed out into
the Grunewald, to bathe themselves once more in the sun and air ere
winter set in. The people came in crowds to Hundekehle and Paulsborn,
to Uncle Tom and the Old Fisherman's Hut as though it were Sunday every
day. There was laughter everywhere, often music too, and young girls in
light dresses, in last summer's dresses that were not yet quite worn
out. Children made less noise in the woods now than in summer; it grew
dark too early now, but there were all the more couples wandering
about, whom the early but still warm dusk gave an excellent opportunity
to exchange caresses, and old people, who wanted to enjoy the sun once
more ere the night perhaps came that is followed by no morning.

Formerly Paul Schlieben had always detested leaving his house and
garden on such days, when the Grunewald was overrun with people. He had
always disliked swallowing the dust the crowd raised. But now he was
broader-minded. Why should the people, who were shut up in cramped
rooms on all the other days, not be out there too for once in a way,
and inhale the smell of the pines for some hours, at any rate, which
they, the privileged ones, enjoyed every day. It did one good
to see how