, and Deutschland that, for an awful moment my faith in
Bernd himself began to shake. Suppose he too, he with his Prussian
blood and upbringing, fell away and went over in spirit to the side of
life that decorates a man in return for the absolute control of his
thoughts, rewards him for the disposal of his soul? Kloster, that
freest of critics, had gone over, his German blood after all unable to
resist the call to slavery. I never could have believed it. I never
_would_ have believed it without actual proof. And Bernd? What about
Bernd? For I haven't more believed in Kloster than I do in Bernd. Oh,
little mother, I was cold with fear.

Then he came. My dear one came for a blessed half hour. And because
we, thank God, are betrothed, and so have the right to be alone
together, we got rid of those smug triumphant others; and if he had
happened not to be able to come, and I had had to wait till tomorrow,
all night long thinking of Kloster, I believe I'd have gone mad. For
you see one believes so utterly in a person one _does_ believe in. At
least, I do. I can't manage caution in belief, I can't give prudently,
carefully, holding back part, as I'm told a woman does if she is really
clever, in either faith or love. And how is one to get on without
faith and love? Bernd comforted me. And he comforted me most by my
finding how greatly he needed to be comforted himself. He was every
bit as profoundly shaken and shocked as I was. Oh, the relief of
discovering that!

We clung to each other, and comforted each other like two hurt
children. Kloster has been so much to us both. More, perhaps, here in
this place of hypocrisy and self-deceptions, than he would have been
anywhere else. He stood for fearlessness, for freedom, for beauty, for
all the great things. And now he has gone; silent, choked by the _Rote
Adler Orden Erste Klasse_. It is an order with three classes. We
wondered bitterly whether he couldn't have been had cheaper,--whether
second, or even third class, wouldn't have done it. He is now a
_Wirkliche Geheimrath mit dem Pradikat Excellenz_. God rest his soul.

Chris.

_Berlin, Monday, August 3rd, 1914_.

Darling own mother,

It's only a matter of hours now before Bernd will have to go, and when
he goes I'm coming back to you.

Your Chris.

_Berlin, Monday August 3rd, evening_.

Precious mother,

I want to come back to you--directly Bernd has gone I'm coming back to