"But why torment myself about the matter?" I cried, took my hat, and set out for Paula's house.
"We are a little nervous this morning," my old friend whispered to me at the door of Paula's studio.
"Don't you know what it is?" I asked in the same tone.
The worthy man shook his head, the head which in his opinion was playing so important a part in the history of modern art, and said:
"One would have to have seven senses, like a bear, to know what is in the hearts of the dear creatures."
With these words he opened the door.
Paula was alone, as Süssmilch had told me. She hastily laid pencils and palette aside, and came to me with her hand extended. I saw at the first glance that she had been weeping, and, although her cheeks were flushed at this moment, she looked to me pale and unwell.
"You were expecting me, Paula?" I asked, holding her hand in my own.
"Yes," she answered; "and as you come at an unusual time, I suppose you know why I was expecting you."
"It was your doing, Paula, was it not?" I said.