And she began to cry.
When her husband came home at one o'clock, he was quite sober. But he
was almost angry with her when he found her still up.
"Why didn't you go to bed?" were the words with which he greeted her.
"How can I go to sleep when I am waiting for you?"
"A fine look out for me! Am I never to go out then? I believe you have
been crying, too?"
"Yes, I have, and how can I help it if you--don't--love--me--any--more?"
"Do you mean to say I don't love you because I had to go out on
business?"
"A banquet isn't business!"
"Good God! Am I not to be allowed to go out? How can women be so
obtrusive?"
"Obtrusive? Yes, I noticed that yesterday, when I met you. I'll never
meet you again."
"But, darling, I was with my chief--"
"Huhuhu!"
She burst into tears, her body moved convulsively.
He had to call the maid and ask her to fetch the hot-water bottle.
He, too, was weeping. Scalding tears! He wept over himself, his hardness
of heart, his wickedness, his illusions over everything.
Surely his love for her wasn't an illusion? He did love her! Didn't
he? And she said she loved him, too, as he was kneeling before her
prostrate figure, kissing her eyes. Yes, they loved one another! It
was merely a dark cloud which had passed, now.
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