"What's the meaning of this?" The man shook the boy, beside himself with anger. But the boy pressed his lips together. He gave his father an upward look out of his dark eyes.
The woman caught the look--oh, God, that was the look!--that look--the woman's look!
She put both her arms round the boy protectingly: "Don't, don't irritate him." She drew him nearer to her and covered his eyes with her hands, so that he had to close them, and then she cast an imploring glance at her husband: "Go, do go."
Paul Schlieben went, but he shook his head angrily.
"You'll see what your training will make of the boy." He raised his hand menacingly once more: "Boy, I tell you, you'll have to obey." And then he closed the door behind him--he could not even have his midday rest undisturbed now.
He heard his wife's voice in the next room. It sounded so gentle and trembled as though with a secret dread. "Wölfchen, Wölfchen, aren't you my good boy?"
No answer. Good heavens, had the unfeeling scamp no answer to give to that question uttered in that tone?
Then again the soft trembling voice: "Won't you be my good boy?"
If the boy did not answer now, then--! The blood surged to his head as he listened against his will, his fingers twitched, he wanted to jump up and rush in again and--ah, he must have answered now. It was probably nothing but a silent nod, but Käte's voice sounded intensely happy: "There you see, I knew you were my good boy, my darling child, my--my----"
Hm, it was certainly not necessary for Käte to lavish such endearing tones on the boy, after he had just been so naughty. And she must have kissed him, put her arms round him. Her voice had died away in a tender breath.