ine, in his distress, sought for words to comfort her and in so
doing found comfort for himself; or if there were no real comfort, at
least there was the hope that Apollonius was already on his way home.
He had certainly examined the tackle again. If he had met with an
accident they would have heard of it by now. He had to repeat this a
dozen times before she understood what he meant. And now she began to
expect the bearer of the terrible tidings, and started at every sound.
She even imagined her own sobbing to be his voice. Finally Valentine,
infected by her desperate terror and not knowing what else to do, ran
to fetch the old gentleman, thinking that he might know how to save
Apollonius, if it were still possible.

The old gentleman sat in his little room. As he withdrew deeper and
deeper into the clouds that separated him from the outer world, even
his little garden finally became strange to him. Especially the
eternal question: "How are you, Herr Nettenmair?" had driven him to
the house. He felt that people no longer believed his: "I am somewhat
troubled with my eyes, but it is a matter of no consequence," and in
every question he heard only a mockery. Much as Apollonius suffered
with him, his father's isolation and increasing unsociability were not
altogether unwelcome to him; for the deeper his brother sank, the more
difficult it had become to conceal from the old gentleman the
condition of the house; and to exclude busybodies from the garden was
impossible. Apollonius did not know that his father suffered tortures
in his room equal to those from which he wanted to protect him. Here
the old gentleman sat the livelong day, crouched down in his leather
chair behind the table, and brooded over all the possibilities of
dishonor that might come to his house; or he strode up and down with
hasty step, the flush in his sunken cheeks and the vehement gestures
of his arms betraying all too plainly how in his thoughts he did his
utmost to avert impending calamity. His was a condition which would
eventually lead to complete insanity, if the external world did not
throw a bridge across to him and force him to leave his isolation.

This was what happened on that day. Force of habit compelled old
Valentine, without his being conscious of the fact, to open the door
gently, and gently to step in; but the old gentleman, with his
morbidly acute perception, discerned at once the unusual. His
anticipation naturally took the same cou