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He looked at her for a moment; then he laughed and rubbed his hands. Fru Adelheid turned her chair towards him, so close that her knees touched his:

“What is it that you wanted to talk to me about this evening?” she asked. “That couldn’t be postponed until the theatre was over? That couldn’t wait for an hour, now that I feel like going out to supper?”

He looked at her and shook his head.

“Was it anything? Or were you only tired and empty, as I was ... and as the faithless wives are ... and the modern poets and ... and everybody?”

“No, Adelheid,” he said. “No. It was nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said and suddenly flung herself violently back in her chair. “There is something behind your words.”

Cordt nodded.

“You are angry with me. What is it that I do? We live no differently, that I know of, from other people in our circle. We travel, we go to the theatre, we go out and we receive our friends at home. We meet amusing people, artists ... everybody who is anybody.”