The Tutor answered in a comically hard voice, stamping his foot:
"Yes."
"I heard just now.... No, I haven't seen her declining, I haven't met her. Is she very ill?"
"Very. Probably dead by now, you understand."
Johannes gave a stunned look at the man, then at his door, wondered whether he should go in or stay where he was; looked at the man again, at his long coat, his hat; and he smiled in a confused and painful way like one in distress.
The old Tutor resumed in a threatening tone:
"Another example; can you get away from it? She did not get the right one either, her sweet-heart from childhood's days, a splendid young Lieutenant. He went shooting one evening, a shot hit him right in the forehead and blew his head to pieces. There he lay, a victim of the little trick God had a mind to play with him. Victoria, his bride, began to decline, a worm was preying on her, cribbling her heart like a sieve; we, her friends, could see it. Then a few days ago she went to a party, to some people named Seier; by the bye, she told me you were to have been there too, but didn't come. Be that as it may, at this party she overtaxes her strength, thoughts of her beloved rush in upon her and she is lively from sheer bravado; she dances, dances the whole evening, dances like a mad person. Then she falls, the floor turns red under her; they lift her up, carry her out, drive her home. She was near the end."
The Tutor went close up to Johannes and said in a hard voice:
"Victoria is dead."
Johannes began fending vaguely with his arms just like a blind man.