Who was it had told her about that picture? Oh, yes, Frau Rupius had told
her when they were taking a walk along the bank of the Danube one day
last autumn, and she in her turn had heard of it from some one
else--Bertha could not remember from whom.

What an odious man! Bertha felt that somehow she was guilty of a slight
depravity in thinking of him and all these things. She continued to stand
by the window. It seemed to her as though it had been an unpleasant day.
She went over the actual events in her mind, and was astonished to find
that, after all, the day had just been like many hundreds before it and
many, many more that were yet to come.




II


They stood up from the table. It had been one of those little Sunday
dinner parties which the wine merchant Garlan was in the habit of
occasionally giving his acquaintances. The host came up to his
sister-in-law and caught her round the waist, which was one of his
customs on an afternoon.

She knew beforehand what he wanted. Whenever he had company Bertha had to
play the piano after dinner, and often duets with Richard. The music
served as a pleasant introduction to a game of cards, or, indeed, chimed
in pleasantly with the game.

She sat down at the piano. In the meantime the door of the smoking-room