"Here comes Herr Rupius!" said Richard.

Bertha lowered the paper and looked in the direction indicated by her
nephew's glance. Along the avenue leading from the town a maidservant
came, pushing an invalid's chair, in which a man was sitting. His head
was uncovered and his soft felt hat was lying upon his knees, from which
a plaid rug reached down to his feet. His forehead was lofty; his hair
smooth and fair and slightly grizzled at the temples; his feet were
peculiarly large. As he passed the bench on which Bertha was seated he
only inclined his head slightly, without smiling. Bertha knew that, had
she been alone, he would certainly have stopped; moreover, he looked only
at her as he passed by, and his greeting seemed to apply to her alone. It
seemed to Bertha that she had never before seen such a grave look in his
eyes as on this occasion, and she was exceedingly sorry, for she felt a
profound compassion for the paralysed man.

When Herr Rupius had passed by, Klingemann said:

"Poor devil! And wifie is away as usual on one of her visits to
Vienna, eh?"

"No," answered Bertha, almost angrily. "I was speaking to her only an
hour ago."

Klingemann was silent, for he felt that further remarks on the subject of
the mysterious visits of Frau Rupius to Vienna might not have been in
keeping with his own reputation as a freethinker.

"Won't he really ever be able to walk again?" asked Richard.