He read the lines still standing; one of his light eyebrows went up, and he drew the long ends of his moustache through his fingers. It was a telegram, and it said: “Don’t be frightened. Am coming at once with Erica. All is over. Your unhappy Antonie.”
“‘At once ... at once,’” he said, with irritation, looking at the Frau Consul and giving his head a quick shake. “What does she mean by ‘at once’?”
“That is just a way of putting it, Tom; it doesn’t mean anything particular. She means by the next train, or something like that.”
“And from Berlin! What is she doing in Berlin? How did she get to Berlin?”
“I don’t know, Tom; I don’t understand it. The dispatch only came ten minutes ago. But something must have happened, and we must just wait to see what it is. God in his mercy will turn it all to good. Sit down, my son, and eat your luncheon.”
He took his chair, and mechanically he poured out a glass of porter.
“‘All is over,’” he repeated. And then “‘Antonie.’ How childish!”
He ate and drank in silence.
After a while the Frau Consul ventured to say: “It must be something about Permaneder, don’t you think, Tom?”
He shrugged his shoulders without looking up.