"Herr Von Barwig," she said, and then she paused. It was so hard, so very hard, to say what she had to say. He stood there expectantly, waiting for her to continue, as a little child looks up at the sound of its mother's voice.
"I'm very sorry," she said in a deep, low voice. "I—don't," still she hesitated, then finally, with much effort she said: "I cannot take any more lessons from you."
Von Barwig looked at her as if he did not comprehend her meaning.
"Not to-day, no, but to-morrow?"
Hélène shook her head.
"Ah, the next day!"
Again Hélène shook her head. "No," she said in an almost inaudible voice. Von Barwig noted that her face was sad, that her tone was low and mournful and his voice faltered as he asked, with his usual smile, "The day after that, perhaps?"
"No, Herr Von Barwig. I cannot take any more lessons from you."
"Cannot take any more lessons," he repeated mechanically; then as he realised her meaning he tried to speak, but his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. There was a long pause, during which neither of them spoke.
"You wish me no more at all?" he asked finally.