"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.
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.