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“Much inferior,” said Cordt, “and much less happy.”

They crossed the room and went out on the balcony, as was their custom before they went to bed.

The stars of the September night rode in a high sky. Most of the lamps were extinguished and there were but few people in the square. A drunken man was singing far away. The sound of the water falling in the fountain swelled up in the silence.

“How beautiful it is here!” he said.

“Yes.”

“And now the summer nights are over and we have not enjoyed them.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“I do not think that in the whole world there is a square so pretty as this,” he said.

“Oh, yes ... in Florence....”

He sighed and led her into the room:

“We have travelled too much, Adelheid.”

She crossed the floor quickly and opened the door. He remained standing on the balcony.

It had all seethed up in him again. He fought against it, but to no purpose.

“Are you coming, Cordt?”

She was outside in the passage and could not see him.

“Do you go.... I will come presently.”