rothea. Ugly wrinkles appeared on her
brow. "If you had not made me disgusted with my art, I might have been
able to make a little money too," she added.

He looked down at the floor in complete silence. She however began
thinking about ways and means of getting her hands on money. "Uncle
Carovius might help me," she thought. She took to visiting her father
more frequently, and every time she came she would stand out in the hall
for a while hoping to see Herr Carovius. One day he appeared. She wanted
to speak to him, smile at him, win him over. But one look from that
face, filled with petrified and ineradicable rage, showed her that any
attempt to approach the old man and get him in a friendly frame of mind
would be fruitless.

On the way home she chanced to meet the actor Edmund Hahn. She had not
seen him since she had been married. The actor seemed tremendously
pleased to see her. They walked along together, engaged in a zealous
conversation, talking at first loudly and then gently.

IX

The day Dorothea got married, Herr Carovius had gone to his lawyer to
have the will he had drawn up the night before attested to. He had
bequeathed his entire fortune, including his home and the furniture, to
an institution to be erected after his death for the benefit of orphans
of noble birth. Baron Eberhard von Auffenberg had been named as first
director of the institution and sole executor of his will.

Herr Carovius refused to have anything more to do with music. He had a
leather cover made for his long, narrow grand piano, and enshrouded in
this, the instrument resembled a stuffed animal. He looked back on his
passion for music as one of the aberrations of his youth, though he
realised that he was chastising his spirit till it hurt when he took
this attitude.

The method he employed to keep from having nothing to do was
characteristic of the man: he went through all the books of his library
looking for typographical errors. He spent hours every day at this work;
he read the scientific treatises and the volumes of pure literature with
his attention fixed on individual letters. When, after infinite search,
he discovered a word that had been misspelled, or a grammatical slip, he
felt like a fisherman who, after waiting long and patiently, finally
sees a fish dangling on the hook.

Otherwise he was thoroughly unhappy. The beautiful evenness of his hair
on the back of his neck had been tran