"Oh, no; with my boy."

"Yes--yes--of course, there he is! Good evening, my little mortal!"--he
gazed away over Fritz's head as he said this--"may I sit down for a
moment beside you, Frau Bertha?"

He pronounced her name with an ironic inflection and, without waiting for
her to reply, he sat down on the bench.

"I heard you playing the piano this morning," he continued. "Do you know
what kind of an impression it made upon me? This: that with you music
must take the place of everything."

He repeated the word "everything" and, at the same time, looked at Bertha
in a manner which caused her to blush.

"What a pity I so seldom have the opportunity of hearing you play!" he
went on. "If I don't happen to be passing your open window when you are
at the piano--"

Bertha noticed that he kept on edging nearer to her, and that his arm was
touching hers. Involuntarily she moved away. Suddenly she felt herself
seized from behind, her head pulled back over the bench and a hand
clasped over her eyes.

For a moment she thought that it was Klingemann's hand, which she felt
upon her lids.

"Why, you must be mad, sir," she cried.