iped a chair with her apron:
after all, it was an honour that Wolfgang's mother came to see Frida in
the cellar. And in a voice full of cordial sympathy she said: "How is
the young gentleman? if I may ask. Is he quite well?"

Kate did not answer her: that was really too great an impertinence,
quite an unheard-of impertinence. How could she ask so boldly? But all
at once she was filled with doubt: did she know anything about it? She
looked into her innocent eyes. This woman had probably been deceived as
she had been. She had not the heart to explain matters--poor mother! So
she only nodded and said evasively: "Quite well, thanks."

They were silent, both feeling a certain embarrassment. Frau Laemke
peeled the potatoes for dinner and put them on, now and then casting a
furtive look at the lady who sat waiting. Kate was pale and tried to
hide her yawns; her agitation had been followed by a feeling of great
exhaustion. For was she not waiting in vain? And this mother would also
wait in vain to-day. The girl, that hypocrite, was not coming. Kate was
seized with something akin to fury when she thought of the girl's
fair hair. That was what had led her boy astray, that had bewitched
him--perhaps he could not throw her off now. "Always your--your Frida
Laemke"--she had sulked in that letter, he had probably wanted to draw
back but--"if you don't come I shall come to you,"--oh, she would no
doubt take care not to let him go, she held him fast.

Kate did not believe that Frida Laemke would come home. It
was getting on for two o'clock. Her mother had lied, perhaps she was
acting in concert with the girl all the time.

But now Kate gave a start, a step was heard on the cellar steps, and
on hearing it her mother said, delighted: "That's Frida."

Someone hummed a tune outside--then the door opened.

Frida Laemke was wearing a dark fur toque on her fair hair now,
instead of the little sailor hat; it was imitation fur, but two pigeon
wings were stuck in on one side, and the hat suited her pert little
face well.

Kate was standing in the greatest agitation; she had jumped up and
was looking at the girl with burning eyes. So she had really come. She
was there but Wolfgang, where was he? She quite shouted at the girl as
she said: "Do you know where my son is--Wolfgang--Wolfgang
Schlieben?"

Frida's rosy face turned white in her surprise. She wanted to say
something, stammered, hesitated, bit her lips and got scarlet. "How
should