"What do you mean?"
"Before he ruins himself—or us."
"Wolff, you are not fair. You are unjust."
He smiled sadly.
"I hope I am. Good-bye, little woman. I shall try and be back early. But perhaps Arnold will come—and then you will not be alone."
He went out, closing the door quietly behind him. The protest died on her lips; an icy sense of isolation crept over her, obliterating for the moment all thought of his injustice, of the slight which he had cast upon her brother. In her sudden weakness she held out her arms towards the closed door and called his name, feebly, like a frightened child crying in the dark. But he did not come back. She heard his spurs jingle with a mocking cheerfulness—and then silence. So she went back to her place by the window and sat there, holding back with a pitiful pride the tears that burnt her eyes.
Presently the door opened again. She thought he had come back, and with all her pride her heart beat faster with a momentary, reasonless hope. Then she heard the click of the electric light and a man's voice speaking to her.
"Gnädige Frau, may I come in?"
She sprang to her feet as though the voice had been a blow, and saw Bauer standing on the threshold, bowing, a curious half-ironical smile playing about his mouth. For the moment she could neither think nor speak, but out of the depths of her consciousness arose the old aversion, the old instinctive dread. She knew then, warned by that same occult power, that the time had come when the dread should receive its justification.
"I found the door open, and ventured to enter unannounced," Bauer went on calmly. "I knew from experience that the usual formalities would lead to no result. You have been 'out' a great deal of late, gnädige Frau." He came towards her without hesitation, and, taking her passive hand, kissed it. "Am I forgiven?"