very _peinlich_, as they say; for however
much people want to get rid of you they're always angry if you want to
go. I said all I could that was grateful, and there was quite a lot I
could say by blotting out the last two days from my remembrance. I
did, being greatly at sea and perplexed, ask what it was that I had
done to offend her; though of course she didn't tell me, and was only
still more offended at being asked.

I'm going to pack now, and write a letter to Bernd telling him about
it, in case Helena should have a second unfortunate conviction that I'm
not at home when he comes next. And I do try to be cheerful, little
mother, and keep my soul from getting hurt, and when I'm at Frau Berg's
I shall feel more normal again I expect. But one has such fears--oh,
more than just fears, terrors--Well, I won't go on writing in this
mood. I'll pack.

Your own Chris.

_At Frau Berg's, August 4th, 1914, very late_.

Precious mother,

I'm coming back to you. Don't be unhappy about me. Don't think I'm
coming back mangled, a bleeding thing, because you see, I still have
Bernd. I still believe in him--oh, with my whole being. And as long
as I do that how can I be anything but happy? It's strange how, now
that the catastrophe has come, I'm quite calm, sitting here at Frau
Berg's in my old room in the middle of the night writing to you. I
think it's because the whole thing is so great that I'm like this, like
somebody who has had a mortal blow, and because it's mortal doesn't
feel. But this isn't mortal. I've got Bernd and you,--only now I must
have great patience. Till I see him again. Till war is over and he
comes for me, and I shall be with him always.

I'm coming to you, dear mother. It's finished here. I'm going to
describe it all quite calmly to you. I'm not going to be unworthy of
Bernd, I won't have less of dignity and patience than he has. If you'd
seen him tonight saying good-bye to me, and stopped by the Colonel!
His look as he obeyed--I shan't forget it. When next I'm weak and base
I shall remember it, and it will save me.

At dinner there were only the Grafin and Helena and me, and they didn't
speak a word, not only not to me but not to each other, and in the
middle a servant brought in a note for the Grafin from the Graf, he
said, and when she had looked at it she got up and went out. We
finished our dinner in dead silence, and I was going up to my room when
the Grafin's maid c