"She didn't let her say good-bye to me," the boy screamed as an answer. "She's sent her away because--because----"
"You still dare to speak to----"
"Yes! Why didn't she let Cilia say good-bye to me? She never did anything to her. I loved her and it was for that, only for that----"
"Silence!" He gave the boy a violent blow on the mouth. The man no longer recognised himself; his calmness had abandoned him, the boy's obstinacy made him lose his temper. How he struggled against the hand that was holding him, how he stared at him with his bold eyes. How dared he shout at him like that? "You"--he shook him--"so you are so insolent? So ungrateful? What would have become of you? You would have died in misery--yes--it's she who has made something out of you--who picked you up out of----"
"Paul!" His wife's scream interrupted the man. Käte seized hold of his arm as though she were out of her mind: "No, no, leave him. You are not to--no!" She held her hand in front of his mouth. And when he pushed her away angrily and seized hold of the boy more firmly, she tore him away from him and pressed his head against her dress as if to protect him. She held her hand before his ears. Her face was deathly white, and, turning her dilated eyes to her husband, she implored him full of terror: "Not a word! I beseech you, I beseech you!"
The man's anger had not yet cooled. Käte must really have lost her senses. Why did she take the boy away from the punishment he so richly deserved? He approached the boy once more with a hard: "Well, really, Käte I'm not going to condone this."
Then she fled with him to the door and pushed him outside, bolted it and then placed herself in front of it, as though to bar her husband's egress.
Now Wolfgang had gone. They were both alone now, she and her husband, and with a cry full of reproach: "You had almost betrayed it to him," she tottered to the sofa. She fell rather than sat down on it, and broke out in hopeless weeping.
Paul Schlieben strode up and down the room. He had indeed almost allowed himself to be carried away by his indignation. But would it have been a misfortune if he had told the boy about it? Let him know where he came from, and that he had nothing, really nothing whatever to do there. That he received everything as a favour. It was absolutely unnecessary--in fact, more prejudicial than desirable--to keep it a secret from him. But if she would not allow it on any account!
He interrupted his walk to and fro, remained standing before his wife, who was weeping in the corner of the sofa, and looked down at her. He felt so extremely sorry for her. That was the reward for all her kindness, her unselfishness, for all her devotion! He laid his hand softly on her drooping head without saying a word.