For a time he remained silent, tugging his slightly grizzled fair
moustache upwards and downwards.

"I presume you have come from up there, my dear lady?" he said.

Without turning his head or even his eyes, he pointed his finger over his
shoulder, in a somewhat contemptuous manner, in the direction of the
cemetery behind him.

Throughout the town Herr Klingemann was known as a man to whom nothing
was sacred, and as he stood before her, Bertha could not help thinking of
the various bits of gossip that she had heard about him. It was well
known that his relations with his cook, whom he always referred to as his
housekeeper, were of a somewhat more intimate nature than that merely of
master and servant, and his name was also mentioned in connexion with the
wife of a tobacconist, who, as he had himself told Bertha with proud
regret, deceived him with a captain of the regiment stationed in the
town. Moreover, there were several eligible girls in the neighbourhood
who cherished a certain tender interest in him.

Whenever these things were hinted at Herr Klingemann always made some
sneering remark on the subject of marriage in general, which shocked the
susceptibilities of many, but, on the whole, actually increased the
amount of respect in which he was held.

"I have been out for a short walk," said Bertha.

"Alone?"