she could not get through anywhere. She had been pushed back to the Tiergarten. It was cold and wet; her father would be anxious; what was she to do? Diederich assured her that he would make it all right. They continued their way together. All of a sudden he felt tongue-tied and kept looking about as if he had lost his way. They were alone amongst the leafless trees and the wet, withered foliage. Where was all the manly rapture which had previously filled him? Diederich felt embarrassed, as he had been during that last walk with Agnes, when Mahlmann had warned him, and he had jumped on a bus, torn himself away and disappeared. Agnes was just saying: "It is a very, very long time since you came to see us. Didn't papa write to you?" Somewhat confused, Diederich explained that his own father had died. Now Agnes hastened to express her sympathy, then she went on to ask why he had suddenly disappeared three years ago.
"Isn't that so? It is nearly three years now."
Diederich recovered his self-possession and explained that his student life had taken up all his time, that it was a jolly strenuous business. "And then I had to do my military service."
"Oh!"—Agnes stared at him. "What a great man you have become! And now I suppose you have got your doctor's degree?"
"That will come very soon now."
He gazed discontentedly in front of him. The scars on his face, his broad shoulders, all the signs of his well-earned manliness—were these nothing to her? Did she not even notice them?
"But what about you?" he said suddenly. A faint blush suffused her thin, pale face and even the bridge of her small, aquiline nose, with its freckles.
"Yes, sometimes I don't feel very well, but I'll be all right again."
Diederich expressed his regrets.
"Of course I meant to say that you have become prettier"—and he looked at her red hair which escaped from under her hat, and seemed thicker than formerly because her face had become so thin. He was reminded of his former humiliations and of how different things were now. Defiantly he asked: "How is Herr Mahlmann?"
Agnes assumed an air of contempt. "Do you still remember him? If I were to see him again, I should not be particularly pleased."
"Really? But he has a patent office and could very easily marry."
"Well, what of it?"
"But you used to be greatly interested in him."
"What makes you think that?"
"He was always giving you presents."
"I would have preferred not to take them, but then—" she looked down at the ground, at the wet fallen leaves—"then I could not have accepted your presents." She was frightened and said nothing more. Diederich felt that something serious had happened and was silent also.
"They were not worth talking about," he said finally, "a few flowers." And, with returning indignation: "Mahlmann even gave you a bracelet."
"I never wear it," said Agnes. His heart began to beat violently as he managed to say: "And if I had given it to you?"
Silence. He held his breath. Softly he heard her whisper: "In that case, yes."
Then they walked on more quickly and without speaking a word. They came to the Brandenburger Tor, saw that Unter den Linden was full of police and hurried past it, turning into Dorotheenstrasse. Here there were few people about. Diederich slowed their pace and began to laugh.
"It is really very funny. Every present Mahlmann gave you was paid for with my money. I was still a greenhorn and he took everything from me."
She stood still. "Oh!"—and she gazed at him, her blue brown eyes tremulous. "That's dreadful. Can you forgive me?"
He smiled in a superior way, and said that was ancient history, youthful follies.
"No, no," she said, quite disturbed.
Now, he said, the principal thing was: how was she to get home? They could not go any further this way either, and there were no more buses to be seen. "I am yery sorry, but you will have to put up with my society a little longer. In any case, I live just near here. You could come up to my apartment, at least you would be dry there. But, of course, a young lady can't do such a thing."
She still had that beseeching look of hers. "You are too kind," said she, breathlessly. "You are so noble." And as they entered the house, she added: "I know I can trust you, can't I?"
"I know what I owe to the honour of my corps," Diederich declared.
They had to pass the kitchen, but there was no one in it. "Won't you take off your things until you go out again?" said Diederich graciously. He stood there without looking at Agnes, and while she was taking off her hat he stood first on one foot and then on the other.
"I must go and find the landlady and get her to make some tea." He had turned towards the door, but started back, for Agnes had seized his hand and kissed it. "Agnes," he murmured, terribly frightened, and he put his arm around her shoulder to console her. Then she nestled against his. He pressed his lips to her hair, and pressed them fairly hard, because he felt that was the right thing to it. Under that pressure her whole being quivered and shook, as if she had been struck. Through her thin blouse her body felt warm and moist. Diederich felt hot. He kissed Agnes's neck, but suddenly her face was turned up to his, with her lips parted, her eyes half closed and an expression which he* had never seen before. It turned his head. "Agnes! Agnes! I love you," he cried, as if compelled by some deep emotion. She did not answer. Short, hot panting breaths came from her open mouth, and he felt that she was falling; as he carried her, she seemed to melt away.
She sat on the sofa and cried. "Don't be angry with me, Agnes," Diederich begged. Her eyes were wet as she looked at him. "I am crying with joy," said she. "I have waited so long for you."
"Why?" she asked, when he began to button her blouse,—"why do you cover me so soon? Do you no longer find me beautiful?"
He protested: "I am fully conscious of the responsibility I have undertaken."
"Responsibility?" Agnes queried. "Whose is it? I have loved you for three years, but you did not know it. It must have been our fate."
With his hands in his pockets Diederich was thinking that such is the fate of light-minded women. At the same time, he felt the need of hearing her repeat her protestations. "So I am really the only man you ever loved?"
"I saw that you did not believe me. It was terrible when I knew that you had stopped coming, and that everything was over. It was really awful. I wanted to write to you, to go and see you. I lost courage each time, because you might not want me any more. I was so run down that papa had to take me away."
"Where to?" asked Diederich, but Agnes did not answer. She drew him to her again. "Be good to me, I have no one but you!"
"Then you haven't got much," thought Diederich, embarrassed. Agnes appeared greatly diminished in his eyes, and lowered in his estimation, since he had proof that she loved him. He also said to himself that one could not believe everything a girl said who behaved like that.
"And Mahlmann?" he queried mockingly. "There must have been something between you and him— Oh, well, we'll say no more about it," he concluded, as she drew herself up, dumbfounded with horror. He tried to make things right again, saying he was still completely mastered by his joy.
She dressed herself very slowly. "Your father will not know at all what has happened to you," said Diederich. She merely shrugged her shoulders. When she was ready, and he had opened the door, she stood for a moment and looked back into the room with a long glance, full of fear.
"Perhaps," she said, as if talking to herself, "I shall never see this room again. I feel as if I were going to die to-night."
"Why do you say that?" asked Diederich aggrievedly. Instead of replying she clung to him again, her lips pressed to his, their two bodies so closely held together that they seemed but one. Diederich waited patiently. She broke away from him, opened her eyes and said: "You must not think that I expect