She lived on the first floor of a house in a new street. From her windows
she had a view of the hill, and opposite were only vacant sites.

Bertha handed Fritz over to the care of the maid, sat down by the window,
took up the paper and began to read again. She had kept the custom of
glancing through the art news first of all. This habit had been formed in
the days of her early childhood, when she and her brother, who was now an
actor, used to go to the top gallery of the Burg-Theater together. Her
interest in art naturally grew when she attended the conservatoire of
music; in those days she had been acquainted with the names of even the
minor actors, singers and pianists. Later on, when her frequent visits to
the theatres, the studies at the conservatoire and her own artistic
aspirations came to an end, there still lingered within her a kind of
sympathy, which was not free from the touch of homesickness, towards that
joyous world of art. But during the latter portion of her life in Vienna
all these things had retained scarcely any of their former significance
for her; just as little, indeed, as they had possessed since she had come
to reside in the little town, where occasional amateur concerts were the
best that was offered in the way of artistic enjoyment. One evening
during the first year of her married life, she had taken part in one of
these concerts at the "Red Apple" Hotel. She had played two marches by
Schubert as a duet with another young lady in the town. On that occasion
her agitation had been so great that she had vowed to herself never again
to appear in public, and was more than glad that she had given up her
hopes of an artistic career.

For such a career a very different temperament from hers was
necessary--for example, one like Emil Lindbach's. Yes, he was born to it!
She had recognized that by his demeanour the very moment when she had