She nodded very positively. "I don't like to hurt your feelings, my
dear man; but I must make you understand. I can't have people saying
that my dear son's father-in-law is a shabby old musician--a
flute-player in a theatre. You see that clearly, don't you. How could
I--"

"It is quite true," Herr Kreutzer admitted humbly. "I am a shabby old
flute-player and you do not make it quite as bad as it is really,
Madame." He looked at her and smiled a rueful smile. "It is not even a
theatre in which I play, Madame, it is a beer-garden."

"A beer-garden!" she cried in horror. "Oh--Herr Kreutzer! Worse and
worse!" Then, wheedlingly: "Listen. You say you love your daughter."

"Yes; surely; I love my daughter very dearly--almost as much, perhaps,
as Madame loves her son. Almost. Almost."

"You would have gone to prison for her."

"Yes; to prison. Gladly would I go to prison for my Anna, if, by doing
so, I could save her one moment's pain."

"Well, I'm going to suggest a thing not half so hard as that. I will
give consent to my son's marriage to your daughter if you will agree
to give her up entirely--to give her up _entirely_. You understand?
You must never see her any more."

This was too much. The old man drew back with a cry of pain. "I give
my Anna up! I never see her any more! Madame, do you know what you