ole softly from the room, taking with
him the baby, who had set up a mighty howling. Klaere put her arm round
the trembling woman, led her to a seat, and soothed her like a child.

Sitting motionless, Frau von Gropphusen listened to the gentle,
comforting sound of the words, without taking in their meaning,
Suddenly she sprang up and said in a voice of enforced calm:

"Forgive me, dear kind Frau Klaere, for having caused such a
disturbance. It is wrong of me not to be able to control myself better.
Don't be vexed, or angry with me, but please just forget what has
happened."

She began hurriedly to prepare for leaving. Her hands still shook as
she pinned on her hat before the mirror.

"Let me go with you, dear Frau von Gropphusen," urged Klaere.

Hannah von Gropphusen, however, was smiling once more; though in sooth
on her pallid countenance the smile had something of a ghastly look.

"No, no, Frau Klaere," she assured her; "I am better alone."

Once more saying, "Forgive me, won't you?" she departed.

Guentz meanwhile had not been able to quiet the little screamer, and was
glad enough when Klaere took the child from him.

"What is the matter with her?" he asked.

Klaere shrugged her shoulders. "She did not tell me; perhaps she could
not. The trouble may be too profound, too terrible."

"You have left her alone?"

"She has gone."

The senior-lieutenant looked out of window. His wife, with the baby in
her arms, came and stood beside him.

"See!" he cried. "There she goes! Young, beautiful, rich,
fashionable--has she not everything to make her happy?" And shaking
his head he added, "Poor, poor woman!"

He vowed to himself not to make depreciatory remarks about the
Gropphusen in the future. One thing, however, he felt he must impress
on his wife: "Look here, Klaere," he cautioned her, "you won't let her
hold the boy often, will you?"

With the returning spring Hannah von Gropphusen seemed to awaken from
her depression. She had one great passion, to which she eagerly
resorted as soon as the days became fit for it: this was tennis.

In their small garrison she had no real match; the only person who came
anywhere near her was Reimers. He had, of course, been absent from the
tennis club for a whole year, and she was all the more delighted at the
approach of fine weather.

Frau von Gropphusen and Reimers were always the last to leave the
ground, when the balls were often hardly discernible in the gatherin