nicely. If we were to give her money, Minna?”
“She would only give it to him, madam. And he would gamble it away.”
“Minna!” Frau Pagel was shocked. “What are you thinking of? He’ll not gamble any more now, when he’s married. There may be children.”
“There could have been children before, madam. That has nothing to do with gambling.”
Frau Pagel did not want to understand; she was staring across the table at the empty seat.
“Do clear away, Minna,” she cried. “I can’t look at food any longer. Here I’m eating a little pigeon—and he has married.” She wept again. “Oh, Minna, what are we to do? I can’t go on sitting here in my flat as if nothing had happened. We must do something.”
“Suppose we went there?” suggested Minna cautiously.
“Go there? Us? And he doesn’t come here! And he hasn’t even written to tell me he’s going to get married! No, that’s quite impossible.”
“There’s no need to behave as if we knew anything.”
“I deceive Wolf? No, Minna, I won’t start that now. It’s bad enough to realize that he doesn’t mind deceiving me.”
“And suppose I went there alone?” Minna again asked warily. “They’re used to me, and I’m not so particular about a bit of deceiving.”
“That’s bad enough, Minna,” said Frau Pagel sharply. “Very disgusting of you. Well, I’ll lie down now for a short time. I’ve a terrible headache. Bring me a glass of water for my tablets.”
And she went into her husband’s room. For a while she stood before the picture of a young woman, thinking perhaps: She can never love him as much as I did Edmund. They may separate very, very soon.
She heard Minna go to and from the other room, clearing away. She’s an old donkey, she reflected angrily. She was to bring me a glass of water; but no, first she must clear away. Well, I won’t do what she wants. She has her afternoon off the day after tomorrow; she can do what she likes then. If she goes today the girl will know at once why. One knows how mercenary these young girls are. Wolf is a fool. I’ll tell him so, too. He thinks she’s taking him for his own sake, but she has seen the flat and the paintings; she’s known for a long time what prices they fetch. And that this picture really belongs to him. Funny, he’s never asked me for it. But that’s just like Wolf. He isn’t calculating.
She heard the water tap flowing in the kitchen. Minna probably wanted to bring some ice-cold water. Quickly she went to the sofa and lay down, covering herself with a blanket.
“You could have brought me the water five minutes ago, Minna. You know that I’m lying here with a frightful headache.”
She looked angrily at the old servant. But Minna wore her most wooden expression; you couldn’t read her thoughts if she didn’t want you to.
“All right then, Minna. And be very quiet in the kitchen-I want to sleep a little. You can have your afternoon off today. You may leave once you’ve finished the dishes. Leave the window cleaning till tomorrow; you’re bound to make a noise. You’ll make such a clatter with the pails that I shan’t be able to sleep.”
“Good-by, madam,” said Minna and went, closing the door very softly, avoiding any clatter. Silly woman, thought Frau Pagel. How she stared at me—just like an old owl! I’ll wait till she goes, then I’ll hurry along to Betty’s. Perhaps she was at the registry office or sent somebody there—no one’s so inquisitive as Betty. And I’ll be back before Minna-no need for her to know everything.
Frau Pagel glanced once again at the painting on the wall. The Woman in the Window was looking away from her. Seen thus, the dark shadows behind her head made it seem as if a man’s lips were approaching the nape. Frau Pagel had seen it often like that; today it annoyed her.
This damned sensuality, she thought. It spoils everything for the young people. They are always taken in by it.
It occurred to her that, since the couple were married, half of the picture belonged to the young wife. Was it not so?
But only let her come! I wish she would. I slapped her once and there is more waiting for her.…
Almost smiling she turned over, to fall asleep the next minute.
Chapter Four
I
“Listen,” said the Governor, Dr. Klotzsche, to the journalist Kastner, who had chosen that day of all days to visit Meienburg Penitentiary during his tour through Prussia’s strongholds. “Listen. You need attach no importance to the gossip you hear from the townsfolk. If ten prisoners make a noise, in this reinforced concrete building it sounds as if it were a thousand.”
“But you telephoned for the Reichswehr,” the journalist pointed out. “It’s unbelievable!” Governor Klotzsche was about to fly into a rage over Press spying, which went as far as listening-in to trunk calls, when he remembered that this Herr Kastner carried a letter of introduction from the Minister of Justice. Besides, although Cuno was Reich Chancellor, his position according to rumor was shaky, and it was therefore wiser not to be on bad terms with the Social Democratic Party whose Press Herr Kastner represented. “It is unbelievable,” he continued, but in noticeably more moderate tones, “how gossip in this town exaggerates the putting into force of a regulation. If there is unrest in the penitentiary, I have as a precautionary measure to inform the police and Reichswehr. Within a very short time I was able to cancel the warning. You see, Herr Doctor—”
But even that title did not soften this man. “Still, in your opinion there was a possibility of serious unrest. Why?”
The Governor was extremely annoyed, but it didn’t help. “It was on account of the bread,” he said slowly. “It wasn’t good enough for one of the convicts, and he shouted. And when they heard him, twenty others joined in.”
“Twenty, not ten then,” corrected the journalist.
“A hundred for all I care,” cried the Governor, whose gall was overflowing. “For all I care, sir, a thousand, all of them! I can’t alter it; the bread’s not good, but what am I to do? Our food appropriations are four weeks behind the mark devaluation. I can’t buy the best flour—what am I to do?”
“Deliver decent bread. Make a row with the Ministry. Incur debts on behalf of the administration and don’t worry. The men are to be fed according to the regulations.”
“Certainly,” said the Governor. “I’m to risk my neck so that my gentlemen get the best of food. And the unpunished population starves outside, what?”
But Herr Kastner was not accessible to irony and bitterness. Seeing a man in convict garb polishing the corridor floor, he called to him, suddenly very amiable. “You there. Your name, please?”
“Liebschner.”
“Herr Liebschner, tell me quite honestly—how do you find the food, in particular the bread?”
The prisoner glanced swiftly from the Governor to the gentleman in mufti, uncertain of what they wanted to hear. You couldn’t tell; the stranger might be from the Public Prosecutor, and if you opened your mouth too wide you fell in the soup. He plumped for caution. “The food? I like it.”
“Ah, Herr Liebschner,” said the journalist, who was not speaking with a prisoner for the first time, “I’m from the Press. You needn’t be afraid of me. You will come to no harm if you speak frankly. We shall keep an eye on you. What was wrong with the bread early this morning?”
“I beg your pardon,” cried the Governor, pale with fury. “This borders on instigation …”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Herr Kastner barked. “If I’m asking this man to speak the truth, is that instigation? Speak freely—I am Kastner from the Social Democratic Press Combine. You can always write to me.”
But the prisoner had made his decision. “Some will always grumble,” said he and looked frankly at the
