"I may as well confess to you at once," he said to her, simply and almost drily, "that really I do not live here. It was only for our own sake … that I have … for a short while … I deemed it prudent … Vienna, you know, is a small town, and I didn't want to take you into my house at night-time."
She understood, but was not altogether satisfied. She looked up. She was now able to see the outlines of the picture which was hanging above the piano…. It was a naked female figure. Bertha had a curious desire to examine the picture, close at hand.
"What is that?" she asked.
"It is not a work of art," said Emil.
He struck a match and held it up, so as to throw the light on the picture. Bertha saw that it was merely a wretched daub, but at the same time she felt that the painted woman, with the bold laughing eyes, was looking down at her, and she was glad when the match went out.
"You might just play something to me upon the piano," said Emil.
She wondered at the coldness of his demeanour. Didn't he realize that she was with him?… But, on the other hand, did she herself feel any special emotion?… No…. A strange sadness seemed to come welling forth from every corner of the room…. Why hadn't he rather taken her to his own house?… What sort of a house was this, she wondered…. She regretted now that she had not drunk more wine…. She wished that she was not so sober….
"Well, won't you play something to me?" said Emil. "Just think how long it is since I have heard you."
She sat down and struck a chord.
"Indeed, I have forgotten everything."