On the next day, at twelve o'clock, Wilhelm rang at the Markers'
flat in the Lutzowstrasse. Through the little peephole he caught a
glimpse of some one, then the door flew open, a maid ushered him
into the drawing-room, and without waiting for him to speak, said:
"Frau Brohl is in the kitchen; I will fetch her."
"Thank you," said Wilhelm, rather feebly; "there is no hurry. Is--
is--the Fraulein at home?"
The girl was already at the door, and turning round, stared at
Wilhelm with astonished eyes.
"Yes; shall I say that you would like to speak to her?"
Wilhelm nodded, and the girl went out. After a short pause Malvine
stood before him, offering him her white hand, with its short
fingers, while her face flushed to the roots of her hair.
"Might I speak to you, Fraulein?" he said, in a low, constrained
voice.
Malvine went very white, all the blood seemed to leave her heart,
and she almost gasped for breath. After a short silence she
whispered, "Certainly, Herr Doctor," and took him into the little
room next the drawing-room, which contained a modest bookcase, a
writing table, and chairs in red damask. She sat down, and Wilhelm
took a chair near; they were silent for a minute or two, while she,
with eyes downcast, went alternately red and white, and could
scarcely breathe.
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