went to the window. It was quite dark, and at first she could not
recognize the man who was walking outside. But she knew that it was
Klingemann. How absurd! Was he going to haunt the vicinity like a
love-sick swain?

"Good evening, Frau Bertha," he said from across the road, and she could
see in the darkness that he raised his hat.

"Good evening," she answered, almost confusedly.

"You were playing most beautifully."

Her only answer was to murmur "really?" and that perhaps did not
reach his ears.

He remained standing for a moment, then said:

"Good night, sleep soundly, Frau Bertha."

He pronounced the word "sleep" with an emphasis which was almost
insolent.

"Now he is going home to his cook!" thought Bertha to herself.

Then suddenly she called to mind something which she had known for quite
a long time, but to which she had not given a thought since it had come
to her knowledge. It was rumoured that in his room there hung a picture
which was always covered with a little curtain because its subject was of
a somewhat questionable nature.