The child had said:  “You have done something to him.”  Anne had said:  “You hate him, you won’t let him enjoy himself.”  And the sad glance that he sent after her—­she herself caught him now and then unnoticed—­said the same thing.  Like a flash of joyous light it came into her mind that he did not look sadly after Anne—­nor joyfully either.  His gaze was as indifferent as it was with every one else.  She had been told:  “You hate him, you have offended him and you want to hurt him.”  And she had believed that he hated her, that he wanted to hurt her.  And had he not done so?  She looks back into the time long past when he insulted her.  It is long now since she had felt angry with him for it; she had only feared a fresh insult.  Could she still be angry, when he had become such a different man, when she herself knew that he would not offend her, when people said, and his own sad glance confirmed it, that she offended him?  And she let her thoughts run back eagerly, so eagerly that the music sounded again about her and she sat again among her girl friends, in her white dress with the pink sash, in the shooting-house, on the bench in front of the windows; and she got up again, driven by a vague impulse and, dreaming, made her way among the dancers to the door—­there she saw outside, was it not the same face that looked after her now when she passed, so honest, so gentle in its sadness?  Was it not the same peculiar sympathy now as then, that followed her every step and never left her?  Then, she had avoided him and looked at him no more, for he was false.  False?  Is he false again?  Is he still false?

* * * * *

All day long Fritz Nettenmair thought of what it could be that Apollonius wanted to say to him tomorrow:  “Tomorrow, because I am not in the humor for it today?  In the humor?  I’ve let the fox see my hand.  If I hadn’t, he would have blurted it out; now I have warned him and made him cautious.  I am too honest with a player who cheats so; I am bound to lose.  Good; I will be ‘in the humor’ tomorrow, I’ll act as though I were blind and deaf, as if I didn’t see what it is he is trying to do, even if it were still clearer.  A cobweb on the lapel of my coat so that he may have something to brush off!  I can’t bear to have a fellow like that look into my face—­the hypocrite!”

Thus prepared and resolved to outdo the fox in cunning, even though it should put his self-control to the severest test, Apollonius found his brother waiting for him the following day.  Apollonius too had resolved on his course.  He was determined not to let himself be confused today by any mood of his brother’s; everything depended on shutting off the source of all these moods.  Fritz wished him the most unembarrassed, jovial good morning that he could command.

“If you will listen to me calmly and in a spirit of brotherliness,” said Apollonius, “I hope that this will be the best kind of a morning for you and me and all of us.”