Easter eggs
and having had plenty to eat, she was disappointed. Wolfgang did not
say a word.

She had to ask him: "Well, was it nice?"

"Hm."

That might just as well mean yes as no. But she learnt that it had
meant no when she bade him goodnight. It was his father's wish that he
should kiss her hand; he did so that evening as usual with an awkward,
already so thoroughly boyish, somewhat clumsy gesture. His dark smooth
head bent before her for a moment--only a short moment--his
lips just brushed her hand. There was no pressure in the kiss, no
warmth.

"Haven't you enjoyed yourself at all?" She could not help it, she
had to ask once more. And he, who was candid, said straight out:

"You always came just when it was nice."

"Well then, I won't disturb you in the future." She tried to smile.
"Good night, my son." She kissed him, but after he had gone there was a
great terror in her heart, besides a certain feeling of jealousy at the
thought of being superfluous. If he were like that now, what would he
be later on?

Wolfgang could not complain, his mother let the children come to him
in the garden as often as he wanted them--and he wanted them almost
every day. The friendship that had languished during the winter became
warmer than ever now that it was summer.

"Pray leave them," Paul Schlieben had said to his wife, as she
looked at him with anxious eyes: what would he say? Would he really not
mind Wolfgang rushing about with those children in his garden? "I think
it's nice to see how the boy behaves to those children," he said. "I
would never have thought he could attach himself to anybody like
that."

"You don't think it will do him any harm only to associate with
those--those--well, with those children who belong to quite a different
sphere?"

"Nonsense. Harm?" He laughed. "That will stop of its own accord
later on. I infinitely prefer him to keep to the children of such
people than to those of snobs. He'll remain a simple child much longer
in that manner."

"Do you think so?" Well, Paul might be right in a manner. Woelfchen
was not at all fanciful, he liked an apple, a plain piece of bread and
butter just as much as cake. But all the same it would have
been better, and she would have preferred it, had he shown himself more
dainty with regard to his food--as well as to other things. She took
great trouble to make him more fastidious.

When the cook came to her quite indignant one day: "Master Wolfgang