He was not looking into the glass now, he was gazing at the kneeling woman with an indefinable look. As a rule, his face had not much expression and was neither handsome nor ugly, neither fine nor insignificant--it was still a smooth, immature boy's face without a line on it--but now there was something in it, something doubting, restless, which made it appear older, which drew furrows on his forehead and lines round his mouth. Thoughts seemed to be whirling round behind that lowered brow; the broad nostrils quivered slightly, the trembling lips were pressed tightly together.
A deep silence reigned in the room. The mother did not utter a word, nor did the son. The birds were twittering outside, even the faintest chirp could be heard as well as the soft rustling of the spring wind in the tops of the pines.
Käte rose slowly from her knees. She found difficulty in getting up, all her limbs felt as if they were paralysed. She stretched out her hand gropingly, caught hold of the nearest piece of furniture and helped herself up.
"You can take it off again now," she said in a low voice.
He was already doing so, visibly glad at being able to throw off the clothes he was so unused to.
She would have liked so much to say something to him, something quite unimportant--only to speak, speak--but she felt so strangely timid. It was as though he might say to her: "What have I to do with you, woman?" And her fear kept her silent.
He had taken off his new suit now, and was standing before her showing his broad chest, which the unbuttoned shirt had left exposed, his strong legs, from which the stockings had slipped down, and all his big-boned, only half-clothed robustness. She averted her glance--what a big fellow he was already!--but then she looked at him again almost immediately: why should a mother feel shy at looking at her child? A mother?
Her eyes flickered. As she walked to the door she said, without turning her head to him again: "I'm going down now. You'll be able to finish without me, no doubt."
He mumbled something she could not understand. And then he stood a long time, half dressed as he was, and stared into the glass, as though the pupils of his eyes could not move.
The day of his confirmation drew near; it was to take place on Palm Sunday. Dr. Baumann had laid the importance of the step they were about to take very clearly before the boys' eyes. Now a certain feeling of solemnity took the place of Wolfgang's former indifference. He was more attentive during the last lessons; the empty bare room with the few pictures on the plain walls did not seem so bare to him any longer. Was it only because he had grown accustomed to it? A softer light fell through the dreary windows and glided over the monotonous rows of benches, beautifying them.