Nothing had arrived, no letter, no telegram…. Fritz had gone out with the maid. Ah, how lonely she was. She hurried to Herr Rupius' house once more, and the maid opened the door to her. Things were progressing very badly, Herr Rupius was unable to see anyone….
"But what is the matter with her? Don't you know what the doctor said?"
"An inflammation, so the doctor said."
"What kind of an inflammation?"
"Or it might even be blood poisoning, he said. A nurse from the hospital will be here immediately."
Bertha went away. On the square in front of the restaurant a few people were sitting, and one table, right in front, was occupied by some officers, as was usual at that time of the day.
They didn't know what was going on up yonder, thought Bertha, otherwise they wouldn't be sitting there and laughing…. Blood poisoning—well, what could that mean?… Obviously Frau Rupius had attempted to commit suicide!… But why?… Because she was unable to go away—or did not wish to?—but she wouldn't die—no, she must not die!
Bertha called on her relatives, so as to pass the time. Only her sister-in-law was at home; she already knew that Frau Rupius had been taken ill, but that did not affect her very much, and she soon began to talk of other things. Bertha could not endure it, and took her departure.
In the evening she tried to tell Fritz stories, then she read the paper, in which, amongst other things, she found another announcement of the concert at which Emil was to play. It struck her as very strange that the concert was still an event which was announced to take place, and not one long since over.
She was unable to go to bed without making one more inquiry at Herr
Rupius' house. She met the nurse in the anteroom. It was the one Doctor
Friedrich always sent to his private patients. She had a cheerful-looking
face, and a comforting expression in her eyes.