But he remained standing as though he did not see those outstretched arms; his brows were contracted, he only looked at the man. "I know very well that you are my father, but she"--he cast a quick sidelong glance at her--"she's not my mother."
"Who says that?" Käte shrieked it.
"Everybody."
"No, nobody. That's not true. It's a lie, a lie! You are my child, my son, our son I And the one who denies that lies, deceives, slanders!----"
"Käte!" Her husband looked at her very gravely, and there was a reproach in his voice and a warning. "Käte!"
And then he turned to the boy, who stood there so sullenly, almost defiantly--drawn up to his full height, with one foot outstretched, his head thrown back--and said: "Your mother is naturally very much agitated, you must take care of her--to-day especially. Go now, and to-morrow we will----"
"No, no!" Käte did not let him finish speaking, she cried in the greatest excitement: "No, don't postpone it. Let him speak--now--let him. And answer him--now--at once that he is our son, our son alone. Wolfgang--Wölfchen!" She used the old pet name from his childhood again for the first time for months. "Wölfchen, don't you love us any more? Wölfchen, come to me."
She stretched out her arms to him once more, but he did not see those longing, loving, outstretched arms again. He was very pale and his eyes were fixed on the ground.
"Wölfchen, come."
"I cannot."