a mother has still such power,
quite special power, her child never forgets her quite." And she smiled
with a certain security.

"But he isn't my son--not my own son--I'm not his real mother." Kate
confessed now what she had never confessed before. Her fear dragged it
out of her and the hope that the woman would say: "He won't forget such
a mother either, certainly not."

But Frau Laemke did not say it. There was doubt written on her face
and she shook her head. She had not thought of her not being Wolfgang's
real mother at that moment.

There was a troubled silence in the room. All that could be heard
was a sound of heavy breathing, until at last Frida broke the
paralysing stillness in her clear voice. "Have you been to see the
landlady to-day?" she asked. Kate shook her head in silence. "Well
then, ma'am, you say it was two days ago yesterday, then he
may have come back to-day. We shall have to make inquiries. Shall I run
there quickly?"

And she was already at the door, and did not hear her mother call
after her: "Frida, Frida, you must eat a mouthful first, you haven't
eaten any dinner yet," but ran up the cellar steps in her good-natured
haste and compassionate sympathy.

Kate ran after her.

But they got no further news in Friedrichstrasse. There were fires
in the rooms, they had been dusted, the breakfast table had even been
laid as if the young gentleman was expected to come any moment--the
landlady hoped to receive special praise for her thoughtfulness--but
the young gentleman had not returned.

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

Kate Schlieben was ill in bed. The doctor shrugged his shoulders: there
was not much to be done, it was a question of complete apathy. If only
something would happen that would rouse her, something for which it
would repay her to make an effort, she would be all right again. At
present he prescribed strengthening food--her pulse was so bad--every
hour a spoonful of puro, essence of beef, eggs, milk, oysters and such
like.

Paul Schlieben was sitting near his wife's bed; he had just come
home from town. He was sitting there with bent head and knit brows.

"Still nothing about him? What did the woman say--nothing at all
about him?" Kate had just whispered in a feeble voice.

His only answer was: "We shall have to communicate with the police
after all now."

"No, no, not with the police. Should we have him sought as though he
were a criminal? Yo