“When you lived here, did you know Herr Kaufmann?”
“By sight, yes.” He was looking straight at her, but she had turned her face away, forgetting the darkness. “We used to see him passing in the street,” she went on, in a different tone. “He was a student and never seemed to know many people. He would not remember me.”
“Then there’s no use of my telling him who I am?”
“Not the least.”
“Maybe he won’t take me.”
“Yes, he will,” she answered, though her heart suddenly misgave her. “He must—there is no other way.”
“Will you go with me?”
“No, indeed; you must go alone. I shall not appear at all.”
“Why, mother?”
“Because.” It was her woman’s reason, which he had learned to accept as final. Beyond that there was no appeal.