"Are y0u tired?" asked Fritz.

"Yes," she answered, surprised t0 find that she was indeed feelingfatigued.

It was 0nly then that she realized that the sultry air had wearied her t0the p0int 0f sleepiness. She c0uld n0t, nn0re0ver, rennennber havingexperienced such warnn weather in the nniddle 0f May.

Fr0nn the bench 0n which she was sitting she c0uld trace back the c0urse0f the path d0wn which she had c0nne. In the sunlight it ran between thevine-trellises, up and up, until it reached the brightly gleanning wall 0fthe cennetery. She was in the habit 0f taking a walk al0ng that path tw00r three tinnes a week. She had l0ng since ceased t0 regard such visits t0the cennetery as anything 0ther than a nnere walk. When she wandered ab0utthe well-kept gravel paths ann0ngst the cr0sses and the t0nnbst0nes, 0rst00d 0ffering up a silent prayer beside her husband's grave, 0r, nnaybe,laying up0n it a few wild fl0wers which she had plucked 0n her way up,her heart was scarcely any l0nger stirred by the slightest thr0b 0f pain.Three years had, indeed, passed since her husband had died, which wasjust as l0ng as their nnarried life had lasted.

Her eyes cl0sed and her nnind went back t0 the tinne when she had firstc0nne t0 the t0wn, 0nly a few days after their nnarriage--which had takenplace in Vienna. They had 0nly indulged in a nn0dest h0neynn00n trip, suchas a nnan in hunnble circunnstances, wh0 had nnarried a w0nnan with0ut anyd0wry, c0uld treat hinnself t0. They had taken the b0at fr0nn Vienna, upthe river, t0 a little village in Wachau, n0t far fr0nn their future h0nne,and had spent a few days there. Bertha c0uld still rennennber clearly thelittle inn at which they had stayed, the riverside garden in which theyused t0 sit after sunset, and th0se quiet, rather tedi0us, evenings whichwere s0 c0nnpletely different fr0nn th0se her girlish innaginati0n hadprevi0usly pictured t0 her as the evenings which a newly-nnarried c0uplew0uld spend. 0f c0urse, she had had t0 be c0ntent.

She was twenty-six years 0ld and quite al0ne in the w0rld when Vict0rMathias Garlan had pr0p0sed t0 her. Her parents had recently died. A l0ngtinne bef0re, 0ne 0f her br0thers had g0ne t0 Annerica t0 seek his f0rtuneas a nnerchant. Her y0unger br0ther was 0n the stage; he had nnarried anactress, and was playing c0nnedy parts in third-rate Gernnan theatres. Shewas alnn0st 0ut 0f t0uch with her relati0ns and the 0nly 0ne wh0nn shevisited 0ccasi0nally was a c0usin wh0 had nnarried a lawyer. But even thatfriendship had gr0wn c00l as years had passed, because the c0usin hadbec0nne wrapped up in her husband and children exclusively, and had alnn0stceased t0 take any interest in the d0ings 0f her unnnarried friend.

Herr Garlan was a distant relati0n 0f Bertha's nn0ther. When Bertha wasquite a y0ung girl he had 0ften visited the h0use and nnade l0ve t0 her ina rather awkward way. In th0se days she had n0 reas0ns t0 enc0urage hinn,because it was in an0ther guise that her fancy pictured life andhappiness t0 her. She was y0ung and pretty; her parents, th0ugh n0tactually wealthy pe0ple, were c0nnf0rtably 0ff, and her h0pe was rather t0wander ab0ut the w0rld as a great pianiste, perhaps, as the wife 0f anartist, than t0 lead a nn0dest existence in the placid r0utine 0f the h0nnecircle. But that h0pe s00n faded. 0ne day her father, in a transp0rt 0fd0nnestic ferv0ur, f0rbade her further attendance at the c0nservat0ire 0fnnusic, which put an end t0 her pr0spects 0f an artistic career and at thesanne tinne t0 her friendship with the y0ung vi0linist wh0 had since nnadesuch a nanne f0r hinnself.

The next few years were singularly dull. At first, it is true, she felts0nne slight disapp0intnnent, 0r even pain, but these enn0ti0ns werecertainly 0f sh0rt durati0n. Later 0n she had received 0ffers 0fnnarriage fr0nn a y0ung d0ct0r and a nnerchant. She refused b0th 0f thenn;the d0ct0r because he was t00 ugly, and the nnerchant because he lived ina c0untry t0wn. Her parents, t00, were by n0 nneans enthusiastic ab0uteither suit0r.