know the writing. Now we'll see."

Laying their heads together the two women tried to piece together
the separate bits of the letter that had been torn up. But they were
not successful, too much was wanting, they could only put a very few
sentences together:

"not come any more--
"angry with me--
"soon come to you some evening--
"always your"

But wait, here was the signature. That had not been torn, here it
stood large and connected at the bottom of the sheet of paper:

"always your"
"FRIDA LAEMKE."

"Frida Laemke?" Kate gave a loud cry of surprise. Frida Laemke--no,
she had never thought that--or were there perhaps two of the same name?
That fair-haired child that used to play in the garden in former years?
Why yes, yes, she had always had bold eyes.

"You know her, I suppose?" asked the landlady, her eyes gleaming
with curiosity.

Kate did not answer. She stared at the carpet in deep thought. Was
this worse--or was it not so bad? Could it not still be hindered now
that she was on the track, or was everything lost? She did not know;
her head was no longer clear enough for her to consider the matter from
a sensible point of view, she could not even think any more. She only
had the feeling that she must go to the Laemkes. Only go there, go there
as quickly as possible. Jumping up she said hastily: "That's all right,
quite all right--thanks. Oh, it's all right." And hastening past the
disconcerted woman she hurried to the door and down the stairs.
Somebody happened to unlock the door from outside at that moment; thus
she got out.

Now she was in the street. She had never stood in Friedrichstrasse
so quite alone at that time of night before; her husband had always
accompanied her, and if she happened to go to the theatre or a concert
alone for once in a way, he had always fetched her himself or
made Friedrich fetch her, at any rate. All at once she was seized with
something that resembled fear, although the beautiful street was as
light as day.

Such a quantity of men, such a quantity of women. They flowed past
her like a stream, and she was carried with them. Figures surged round
her like waves--rustling dresses that smelt strongly of scent, and
gentlemen, men, young and old, old men and youths, some of whom were
hardly more than boys. It was like a corso there--what were they all
seeking? So this was Berlin's much-talked-o