I don’t know what is happening, but the Koseritzes have suddenly turned different to me.  They’re making me feel more and more uncomfortable and strange.  And there’s a gloom about them and the people who have been here today that sets me wondering whether their war plans after all are rolling along quite as smoothly as they thought.  I never did quite believe the Koseritzes liked me, any of them, and now I’m sure they don’t.  Tonight at dinner the Graf’s face was a thunder-cloud, and actually the Colonel, who hasn’t been all day but came in late for dinner and went again immediately, didn’t speak to me once.  Hardly looked at me when he bowed, and his bow was the stiffest thing.  I can’t ask anybody if there is bad news for Germany, for it would be a most dreadful insult even to suggest there could be bad news.  Besides, I feel as if I somehow were mixed up in whatever it is.  Bernd hasn’t been since this morning.  I shall go round to Frau Berg tomorrow and ask her if I can have my old room.  But oh, little beloved mother, I feel torn in two!  I want so dreadfully to get away, to go back to you, and the thought of being at Frau Berg’s, just waiting, waiting for the tiny scraps of moments Bernd can come to me, fills me with horror.  And yet how can I leave him?  I love him so.  And once he has gone, shall I ever see him again?  If it weren’t for him I’d have started for Switzerland yesterday, the moment I heard about Kloster, for the whole reason for my being in Berlin was only Kloster,

And now Kloster says he isn’t going to teach me any more.  Darling mother, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but it’s true.  He sent round a note this evening saying he regretted he couldn’t continue the lessons.  Just that.  Not another word.  I can’t make anything out any more.  I’ve got nobody but Bernd to ask, and I only see him in briefest snatches.  Of course I knew the lessons would be strange and painful now, but I thought we could manage, Kloster and I, by excluding everything but the bare teaching and learning, to go on and finish what we’ve begun.  He knows how important it is to me.  He knows what this journey here has meant to us, to you and me, the difficulty of it, the sacrifice.  I’m very unhappy tonight, darling mother, and selfishly crying out to you.  I feel almost like leaving Bernd, and starting for Glion tomorrow.  And then when I think of him without me—­He’s as spiritually alone in this welter as I am.  I’m the only one he has, the only human being who understands.  Today he said, holding me in his arms—­you should see how we cling to each other now as if we were drowning—­“When this is over, Chris, when I’ve paid off my bill of duty and settled with them here to the last farthing of me that I’ve promised them, we’ll go away for ever.  We’ll never come back.  We’ll never be caught again.”

  Berlin, Tuesday, August 4th, 1914.

My beloved mother,