THE DEAD ARE SILENT By Arthur Schnitzler Copyright, 1907, by Courtland H. Young HE could endure the quiet waiting in the carriage no longer; it waseasier to get out and walk up and down. It was now dark; the fewscattered lamps in the narrow side street quivered uneasily in the wind. The rain had stopped, the sidewalks were almost dry, but the rough-pavedroadway was still moist, and little pools gleamed here and there. "Strange, isn't it?" thought Franz. "Here we are scarcely a hundredpaces from the Prater, and yet it might be a street in some littlecountry town. Well, it's safe enough, at any rate. She won't meet any ofthe friends she dreads so much here. " He looked at his watch. "Only just seven, and so dark already! It is anearly autumn this year... And then this confounded storm I... " He turnedhis coat-collar up about his neck and quickened his pacing. The glass inthe street lamps rattled lightly. "Half an hour more, " he said to himself, "then I can go home. I couldalmost wish--that that half-hour were over. " He stood for a momenton the corner, where he could command a view of both streets. "She'llsurely come to-day, " his thoughts ran on, while he struggled with hishat, which threatened to blow away. "It's Friday.... Faculty meetingat the University; she needn't hurry home. " He heard the clanging ofstreet-car gongs, and the hour chimed from a nearby church tower. Thestreet became more animated. Hurrying figures passed him, clerks ofneighboring shops; they hastened onward, fighting against the storm. No one noticed him; a couple of half-grown girls glanced up in idlecuriosity as they went by. Suddenly he saw a familiar figure comingtoward him. He hastened to meet her.... Could it be she? On foot? She saw him, and quickened her pace. "You are walking?" he asked. "I dismissed the cab in front of the theatre. I think I've had thatdriver before. " A man passed them, turning to look at the lady. Her companion glared athim, and the other passed on hurriedly. The lady looked after him. "Whowas it?" she asked, anxiously. "Don't know him. We'll see no one we know here, don't worry. But comenow, let's get into the cab. " "Is that your carriage?" "Yes. " "An open one?" "It was warm and pleasant when I engaged it an hour ago. " They walked to the carriage; the lady stepped in. "Driver!" called the man. "Why, where is he?" asked the lady. Franz looked around. "Well, did you ever? I don't see him anywhere. " "Oh--" her tone was low and timid. "Wait a moment, child, he must be around here somewhere. " The young man opened the door of a little saloon, and discovered hisdriver at a table with several others. The man rose hastily. "In aminute, sir, " he explained, swallowing his glass of wine. "What do you mean by this?" "All right, sir... Be there in a minute. " His step was a little unsteadyas he hastened to his horses. "Where'll you go, sir?" "Prater--Summer-house. " Franz entered the carriage. His companion sat back in a corner, crouching fearsomely under the shadow of the cover. He took both her hands in his. She sat silent. "Won't you say goodevening to me?" "Give me a moment to rest, dear. I'm still out of breath. " He leaned back in his corner. Neither spoke for some minutes. Thecarriage turned into the Prater Street, passed the Tegethoff Monument, and a few minutes later was rolling swiftly through the broad, darkPrater Avenue. Emma turned suddenly and flung both arms around her lover's neck. Helifted the veil that still hung about her face, and kissed her. "I have you again--at last!" she exclaimed. "Do you know how long it is since we have seen each other?" he asked. "Since Sunday. " "Yes, and that wasn't good for much. " "Why not? You were in our house. " "Yes--in your house. That's just it. This can't go on. I shall not enteryour house again.... What's the matter?" "A carriage passed us. " "Dear girl, the people who are driving in the Prater at such an hour, and in such weather, aren't noticing much what other people are doing. " "Yes--that's so. But some one might look in here, by chance. " "We couldn't be recognized. It's too dark. " "Yes--but can't we drive somewhere else?" "Just as you like. " He called to the driver, who did not seem to hear. Franz leaned forward and touched the man. "Turn around again. What are you whipping your horses like that for?We're in no hurry, I tell you. Drive--let me see--yes--drive down theavenue that leads to the Reichs Bridge. " "The Reichsstrasse?" "Yes. But don't hurry so, there's no need of it. " "All right, sir. But it's the wind that makes the horses so crazy. " Franz sat back again as the carriage turned in the other direction. "Why didn't I see you yesterday?" "How could I?"... "You were invited to my sister's. " "Oh--yes. " "Why weren't you there?" "Because I can't be with you--like that--with others around. No, I justcan't. " She shivered. "Where are we now?" she asked, after a moment. They were passing under the railroad bridge at the entrance to theReichsstrasse. "On the way to the Danube, " replied Franz. "We're driving toward theReichs Bridge. We'll certainly not meet any of our friends here, " headded, with a touch of mockery. "The carriage jolts dreadfully. " "We're on cobblestones again. " "But he drives so crooked. " "Oh, you only think so. " He had begun to notice himself that the vehicle was swaying to andfro more than was necessary, even on the rough pavement. But he saidnothing, not wishing to alarm her. "There's a great deal I want to say to you today, Emma. " "You had better begin then; I must be home at nine o'clock. " "A few words may decide everything. " "Oh, goodness, what was that!" she screamed. The wheels had caught in acar-track, and the carriage turned partly over as the driver attemptedto free it. Franz caught at the man's coat. "Stop that!" he cried. "Why, you're drunk, man!" The driver halted his horses with some difficulty. "Oh, no--sir--" "Let's get out here, Emma, and walk. " "Where are we?" "Here's the bridge already. And the wind is not nearly as strong asit was. It will be nicer to walk a little. It's so hard to talk in thecarriage. " Emma drew down her veil and followed him. "Don't you call this windy?"she exclaimed as she struggled against the gust that met her at thecorner. He took her arm, and called to the driver to follow them. They walked on slowly. Neither spoke as they mounted the ascent of thebridge; and they halted where they could hear the flow of the waterbelow them. Heavy darkness surrounded them. The broad stream stretcheditself out in gray, indefinite outlines; red lights in the distance, floating above the water, awoke answering gleams from its surface. Trembling stripes of light reached down from the shore they had justleft; on the other side of the bridge the river lost itself in theblackness of open fields. Thunder rumbled in the distance; they lookedover to where the red lights soared. A train with lighted windows rolledbetween iron arches that seemed to spring up out of the night for aninstant, to sink back into darkness again. The thunder grew fainter andmore distant; silence fell again; only the wind moved, in sudden gusts. Franz spoke at last, after a long silence. "We must go away. " "Of course, " Emma answered, softly. "We must go away, " he continued, with more animation. "Go awayaltogether, I mean--" "Oh, we can't!" "Only because we are cowards, Emma. " "And my child?" "He will let you have the boy, I know. " "But how shall we go?" Her voice was very low. "You mean--to run away--" "Not at all. You have only to be honest with him; to tell him that youcannot live with him any longer; that you belong to me. " "Franz--are you mad?" "I will spare you that trial, if you wish. I will tell him myself. " "No, Franz, you will do nothing of the kind. " He endeavored to read her face. But the darkness showed him only thather head was turned toward him. He was silent a few moments more. Then he spoke quietly: "You need notfear; I shall not do it. " They walked toward the farther shore. "Don't you hear a noise?" sheasked. "What is it?" "Something is coming from the other side, " he said. A slow rumbling came out of the darkness. A little red light gleamed outat them. They could see that it hung from the axle of a clumsy countrycart, but they could not see whether the cart was laden or not andwhether there were human beings on it. Two other carts followed thefirst. They could just see the outlines of a man in peasant garb on thelast cart, and could see that he was lighting his pipe. The carts passedthem slowly. Soon there was nothing to be heard but the low rollingof the wheels as their own carriage followed them. The bridge droppedgently to the farther shore. They saw the street disappear intoblackness between rows of trees. Open fields lay before them to theright and to the left; they gazed out into gloom indistinguishable. There was another long silence before Franz spoke again. "Then it is thelast time--" "What?--" Emma's tone was anxious. "The last time we are to be together. Stay with him, if you will. I bidyou farewell. " "Are you serious?" "Absolutely. " "There, now you see, it is you who always spoil the few hours we havetogether?--not I. " "Yes, you're right, " said Franz. "Let's drive back to town. " She held his arm closer. "No, " she insisted, tenderly, "I don't want togo back. I won't be sent away from you. " She drew his head down to hers, and kissed him tenderly. "Where would weget to if we drove on down there?" she asked. "That's the road to Prague, dear. " "We won't go quite that far, " she smiled, "but I'd like to drive on alittle, down there. " She pointed into the darkness. Franz called to the driver. There was no answer; the carriage rumbledon, slowly. Franz ran after it, and saw that the driver was fast asleep. Franz roused him roughly. "We want to drive on down that street. Do youhear me?" "All right, sir. " Emma entered the carriage first, then Franz. The driver whipped hishorses, and they galloped madly over the moist earth of the road-bed. The couple inside the cab held each other closely as they swayed withthe motion of the vehicle. "Isn't this quite nice?" whispered Emma, her lips on his. In the moment of her words she seemed to feel the cab mounting into theair. She felt herself thrown over violently, readied for some hold, butgrasped only the empty air. She seemed to be spinning madly like a top, her eyes closed, suddenly she found herself lying on the ground, a greatsilence about her, as if she were alone, far away from all the world. Then noises began to come into her consciousness again; hoofs beat theground near her; a low moaning came from somewhere; but she couldsee nothing. Terror seized her; she screamed aloud. Her terror grewstronger, for she could not hear her own voice. Suddenly she knew whathad happened; the carriage had hit some object, possibly a mile-stone;had upset, and she had been thrown out. Where is Franz? was her nextthought. She called his name. And now she could hear her voice, notdistinctly yet, but she could hear it. There was no answer to her call. She tried to get up. After some effort she rose to a sitting, posture, and, reaching out, she felt something, a human body, on the groundbeside her. She could now begin to see a little through the dimness. Franz lay beside her, motionless. She put out her hand and touchedhis face; something warm and wet covered it. Her heart seemed tostop beating--Blood?--Oh, what had happened? Franz was wounded andunconscious. Where was the coachman? She called him, but no answercame. She still sat there on the ground. She did not seem to be injured, although she ached all over. "What shall I do?" she thought; "what shallI do? How can it be that I am not injured? Franz!" she called again. Avoice answered from somewhere near her. "Where are you, lady? And where is the gentleman? Wait a minute, Miss--I'll light the lamps, so we can see. I don't know what's got intothe beasts to-day. It ain't my fault, Miss, sure--they ran into a pileof stones. " Emma managed to stand up, although she was bruised all over. The factthat the coachman seemed quite uninjured reassured her somewhat. She heard the man opening the lamp and striking a match. She waitedanxiously for the light. She did not dare to touch Franz again. "It'sall so much worse when you can't see plainly, " she thought. "His eyesmay be open now--there won't be anything wrong.... " A tiny ray of light came from one side. She saw the carriage, notcompletely upset, as she had thought, but leaning over toward theground, as if one wheel were broken. The horses stood quietly. She sawthe milestone, then a heap of loose stones, and beyond them a ditch. Then the light touched Franz's feet, crept up over his body to his face, and rested there. The coachman had set the lamp on the ground beside thehead of the unconscious man. Emma dropped to her knees, and her heartseemed to stop beating as she looked into the face before her. It wasghastly white; the eyes were half open, only the white showing. A thinstream of blood trickled down from one temple and ran into his collar. The teeth were fastened into the under lip. "No--no--it isn't possible, "Emma spoke, as if to herself. The driver knelt also and examined the face of the man. Then he tookthe head in both his hands and raised it. "What are you doing?" screamedEmma, hoarsely, shrinking back at the sight of the head that seemed tobe rising of its own volition. "Please, Miss--I'm afraid--I'm thinking--there's a great misfortunehappened--" "No--no--it's not true!" said Emma. "It can't be true!--You are nothurt? Nor am I--" The man let the head he held fall back again into the lap of thetrembling Emma. "If only some one would come--if the peasants had onlypassed fifteen minutes later. " "What shall we do?" asked Emma, her lips trembling. "Why, you see, Miss, if the carriage was all right--but it's no good asit is--we've got to wait till some one comes--" he talked on, but Emmadid not hear him. Her brain seemed to awake suddenly, and she knew whatwas to be done. "How far is it to the nearest house?" she asked. "Not much further, Miss--there's Franz-Josef's land right there. We'd seethe houses if it was lighter--it won't take five minutes to get there. " "Go there, then; I'll stay here--Go and fetch some one. " "I think I'd better stay here with you, Miss. Somebody must come; it'sthe main road. " "It'll be too late; we need a doctor at once. " The coachman looked down at the quiet face, then he looked at Emma, andshook his head. "You can't tell, " she cried. "Yes, Miss--but there'll be no doctor in those houses. " "But there'll be somebody to send to the city--" "Oh, yes, Miss--they'll be having a telephone there, anyway! We'lltelephone to the Rescue Society. " "Yes, yes, that's it. Go at once, run--and bring some men back with you. Why do you wait? Go at once. Hurry!" The man looked down again at the white face in her lap. "There'll be nouse here for doctor or Rescue Society, Miss. " "Oh, go!--for God's sake go!" "I'm going, Miss--but don't get afraid in the darkness here. " He hurried down the street. "'Twasn't my fault, " he murmured as he ran. "Such an idea! to drive down this road this time o' night. " Emma was left alone with the unconscious man in the gloomy street. "What shall I do now?" she thought "It can't be possible--it can't. " Thethought circled dizzily in her brain--"It can't be possible. " Suddenlyshe seemed to hear a low breathing. She bent to the pale lips--no--notthe faintest breath came from them. The blood had dried on temple andcheek. She gazed at the eyes, the half-closed eyes, and shuddered. Whycouldn't she believe it?... It must be true--this was Death! A shiverran through her--she felt but one thing--"This is a corpse. I am herealone with a corpse!--a corpse that rests on my lap!" With tremblinghands she pushed the head away, until it rested on the ground. Thena feeling of horrible alone-ness came over her. Why had she sent thecoachman away? What should she do here all alone with this dead man inthe darkness? If only some one would come--but what was she to do thenif anybody did come? How long would she have to wait here? She lookeddown at the corpse again. "But I'm not alone with him, " she thought, "the light is there. " And the light seemed to her to become alive, something sweet and friendly, to which she owed gratitude. There wasmore life in this little flame than in all the wide night about her. Itseemed almost as if this light was a protection for her, a protectionagainst the terrible pale man who lay on the ground beside her. Shestared into the light until her eyes wavered and the flame began todance. Suddenly she felt herself awake--wide awake. She sprang to herfeet. Oh, this would not do! It would not do at all--no one must findher here with him. She seemed to be outside of herself, looking atherself standing there on the road, the corpse and the light below her;she saw herself grow into strange, enormous proportions, high up intothe darkness. "What am I waiting for?" she asked herself, and her brainreeled. "What am I waiting for? The people who might come? They don'tneed me. They will come, and they will ask questions--and I--why am Ihere? They will ask who I am--what shall I answer? I will not answerthem--I will not say a word--they cannot compel me to talk. " The sound of voices came from the distance. "Already?" she thought, listening in terror. The voices came from thebridge. It could not be the men the driver was bringing with him. Butwhoever it was would see the light--and they must not see it, for thenshe would be discovered. She overturned the lantern with her foot, and the light went out. She stood in utter darkness. She could seenothing--not even him. The pile of % stones shone dimly. The voices camenearer. She trembled from head to foot; they must not find her here. That was the only thing of real importance in all the wide world--thatno one should find her here. She would be lost if they knew thatthis--this corpse--was her lover. She clasps her hands convulsively, praying that the people, whoever they were, might pass by on the fartherside of the road, and not see her. She listens breathless. Yes, they arethere, on the other side--women, two women, or perhaps three. What arethey talking about? They have seen the carriage, they speak of it--shecan distinguish words. "A carriage upset--" What else do theysay? She cannot understand--they walk on--they have passedher--Ah--thanks--thanks to Heaven!--And now? What now? Oh, why isn'tshe dead, as he is? He is to be envied; there is no more danger, no morefear for him. But so much--so much for her to tremble for. She shiversat the thought of being found here, of being asked, "Who are you?" Shewill have to go to the police station, and all the world will know aboutit--her husband--her child. She cannot understand why she has stoodthere motionless so long. She need not stay here--she can do no goodhere--and she is only courting disaster for herself. She makes a stepforward--Careful! the ditch is here--she crosses it--how wet it is--twopaces more and she is in the middle of the street. She halts a moment, looks straight ahead, and can finally distinguish the gray line of theroad leading onward into darkness. There--over there--lies the city. Shecannot see it, but she knows the way. She turns once more. It doesnot seem so dark now. She can see the carriage and the horses quitedistinctly--and, looking hard, she seems to see the outline of a humanbody on the ground. Her eyes open wide. Something seems to clutch at herand hold her here--it is he--she feels his power to keep her with him. With an effort she frees herself. Then she perceives thatit was the soft mud of the road that held her. And she walksonward--faster--faster--her pace quickens to a run. Only to be away fromhere, to be back in the light--in the noise--among men. She runs alongthe street, raising her skirt high, that her steps may not be hindered. The wind is behind her, and seems to push her along. She does not knowwhat it is she flees from. Is it the pale man back there by the ditch?No, now she knows, she flees the living, not the dead, the living, whowill soon be there, and who will look for her. What will they think?Will they follow her? But they cannot catch up with her now, she is sofar away, she is nearing the bridge, there is danger. No one can knowwho she was, no one can possibly imagine who the woman was who drovedown through the country road with the dead man. The driver does notknow her; he would not recognize her if he should ever see her again. They will not take the trouble to find out who she is. Who cares? It waswise of her not to stay--and it was not cowardly either. Franz himselfwould say it was wise. She must go home; she has a husband, a child; shewould be lost if any one should see her there with her dead lover. Thereis the bridge; the street seems lighter--she hears the water beneathher. She stands there, where they stood together, arm in arm--when wasit? How many hours ago? It cannot be long since then. And yet--perhapsshe lay unconscious long, and it is midnight now, or near morning, andthey have missed her at home. Oh, no--it is not possible. She knowsthat she was not unconscious, she remembers everything clearly. She runsacross the bridge, shivering at the sound of her own steps. Now she seesa figure coming toward her; she slows her pace. It is a man in uniform. She walks more slowly, she does not want to attract attention. She feelsthe man's eyes resting on her--suppose he stops her! Now he is quitenear; it is a policeman. She walks calmly past him, and hears him stopbehind her. With an effort she continues in the same slow pace. Shehears the jingle of street-car bells--ah, it cannot be midnight yet. Shewalks more quickly--hurrying toward the city, the lights of which beginthere by the railroad viaduct--the growing noise tells her how near sheis. One lonely stretch of street, and then she is safe. Now she hearsa shrill whistle coming rapidly nearer--a wagon flies swiftly past her. She stops and looks after it; it is the ambulance of the Rescue Society. She knows where it is going. "How quickly they have come, " she thinks;"it is like magic. " For a moment she feels that she must call to them, must go back with them. Shame, terrible, overwhelming shame, such lasshe has never known before, shakes her from head to foot--she knows howvile, how cowardly she is. Then, as the whistle and the rumble ofwheels fade away in the distance, a mad joy takes hold of her. She issaved--saved! She hurries on; she meets more people, but she does notfear them--the worst is over. The noise of the city grows louder, thestreet is lighter, the skyline of the Prater street rises before her, and she knows that she can sink into a flood tide of humanity there andlose herself in it. When she comes to a street lamp she is quite calmenough now to take out her watch and look at it. It is ten minutes tonine. She holds the watch to her ear--it is ticking merrily. And shethinks: "Here I am, alive, unharmed--and he--he--dead. It is Fate. " Shefeels as if all had been forgiven--as if she had never sinned. And whatif Fate had willed otherwise? If it were she lying there in the ditch, and he who remained alive? He would not have run away--but then he isa man. She is only a woman, she has a husband, a child--it was herright--her duty--to save herself. She knows that it was not a sense ofduty that impelled her to do it. But what she has done was right--shehad done right instinctively--as all good people do. If she had stayedshe would have been discovered by this time. The doctors would questionher. And all the papers would report it next morning; she would havebeen ruined forever, and yet her ruin could not bring him back to life. Yes, that was the main point, her sacrifice would have been all invain. She crosses under the railway bridge and hurries on. There is theTegethoff Column, where so many streets meet. There are but few peoplein the park on this stormy evening, but to her it seems as if the lifeof the city was roaring about her. It was so horribly still back there. She had plenty of time now. She knows that her husband will not be homebefore ten o'clock. She will have time to change her clothes. And thenit occurs to her to look at her gown. She is horrified to see how soiledit is. What shall she say to the maid about it? And next morning thepapers will all bring the story of the accident, and they will tell of awoman. Who had been in the carriage, and who had run away. She trembledafresh. One single carelessness and she is lost, even now. But she hasher latch-key with her; she can let herself in; no one will hear hercome. She jumps into a cab and is about to give her address, thensuddenly she remembers that this would not be wise. She gives any numberthat occurs to her. As she drives through the Prater street she wishes that she might feelsomething--grief-horror--but she cannot. She has but one thought, onedesire--to be at home, in safety. All else is indifferent to her. Whenshe had decided to leave him alone, dead, by the roadside--in thatmoment everything seemed to have died within her, everything thatwould mourn and grieve for him. She has no feeling but that of fear forherself. She is not heartless--she knows that the day will come when hersorrow will be despair--it may kill her even. But she knows nothing now, except the desire to sit quietly at home, at the supper table with herhusband and child. She looks out through the cab window. She is drivingthrough the streets of the inner city. It is brilliantly light here, and many people hurry past. Suddenly all that she has experienced inthe last few hours seems not to be true, it is like an evil dream;not something real, irreparable. She stops her cab in one of the sidestreets of the Ring, gets out, turns a corner quickly, and takes anothercarriage, giving her own address this time. She does not seem able tothink of anything any more. "Where is he now?" She closes her eyes andsees him on the litter, in the ambulance. Suddenly she feels that he ishere beside her. The cab sways, she feels the terror of being thrown outagain, and she screams aloud. The cab halts before the door of her home. She dismounts hastily, hurries with light steps through the house door, unseen by the concierge, runs up the stairs, opens her apartment doorvery gently, aind slips unseen into her own room. She undresses hastily, hiding the mud-stained clothes in her cupboard. To-morrow, when they aredry, she can clean them herself. She washes hands and face, and slipsinto a loose housegown. The bell rings. She hears the maid open the door, she hears herhusband's voice, and the rattle of his cane on the hat-stand. She feelsshe must be brave now or it will all have been in vain. She hurries tothe dining-room, entering one door as her husband comes in at the other. "Ah, you're home already?" he asks. "Why, yes, " she replies, "I have been home some time. " "They evidently didn't hear you come in. " She smiles without effort. But it fatigues her horribly to have tosmile. He kisses her forehead. The little boy is already at his place by the table. He has been waitingsome time, and has fallen asleep, his head resting on an open book. She sits down beside him; her husband takes his chair opposite, takesup a paper, and glances carelessly at it. Then he says: "The others arestill talking away there. " "What about?" she asks. And he begins to tell her about the meeting, at length. Emma pretends tolisten, and nods now and then. But she does not hear what he is saying, she feels dazed, like one who has escaped terrible danger as by amiracle; she can feel only this: "I am safe; I am at home. " And whileher husband is talking she pulls her chair nearer the boy's and liftshis head to her shoulder. Fatigue inexpressible comes over her. She canno longer control herself; she feels that her eyes are closing, that sheis dropping asleep. Suddenly another possibility presents itself to her mind, a possibilitythat she had dismissed the moment she turned to leave the ditch whereshe had fallen. Suppose he were not dead! Suppose--oh, but it isimpossible--his eyes--his--lips--not a breath came from them! But thereare trances that are like death, which deceive even practised eyes, andshe knows nothing about such things. Suppose he is still alive--supposehe has regained consciousness and found himself alone by theroadside--suppose he calls her by her name? He might think she had beeninjured; he might tell the doctors that there was a woman with him, andthat she must have been thrown to some distance. They will look for her. The coachman will come back with the men he has brought, and will tellthem that she was there, unhurt--and Franz will know the truth. Franzknows her so well--he will know that she has run away--and a great angerwill come over him. He will tell them her name in revenge. For he ismortally injured, and it will hurt him cruelly that she has left himalone in his last hour. He will say: "That is Mrs. Emma ------. I am herlover. She is cowardly and stupid, too, gentlemen, for she might haveknown you would not ask her name; you would be discreet; you would havelet her go away unmolested. Oh, she might at least have waited until youcame. But she is vile--utterly vile--ah!--" "What is the matter?" asks the Professor, very gravely, rising from hischair. "What? What?" "Yes, what is the matter with you?" "Nothing. " She presses the boy closer to her breast. The Professor looks at her for a few minutes steadily. "Didn't you know that you had fallen asleep, and--" "Well?-- And--" "And then you screamed out in your sleep. " "Did I?" "You screamed as if you were having a nightmare. Were you dreaming?" "I don't know--" And she sees her face in a mirror opposite, a face tortured into aghastly smile. She knows it is her own face, and it terrifies her. Shesees that it is frozen; that this hideous smile is frozen on it, andwill always be there, all her life. She tries to cry out. Two hands arelaid on her shoulders, and between her own face and the mirrored one herhusband's face pushes its way in; his eyes pierce into hers. She knowsthat unless she is strong for this last trial all is lost. And shefeels that she is strong; she has regained control of her limbs, but themoment of strength is short. She raises her hands to his, which reston her shoulders; she draws him down to her, and smiles naturally andtenderly into his eyes. She feels his lips on her forehead, and she thinks: "It is all adream--he will never tell--he will never take revenge like that--he isdead--really dead--and the dead are silent--" "Why did you say that?" she hears her husband's voice suddenly. She starts. "What did I say?" And it seems to her as if she had toldeverything, here at the table--aloud before every one--and again sheasks, shuddering before his horrified eyes, "What did I say?" "The dead are silent, " her husband repeats very slowly. "Yes, " she answers. And she reads in his eyes that she can no longer hide anything from him. They look long and silently at each other. "Put the boy to bed, " he saysat last. "You have something to tell me, have you not?" "Yes--" She knows now that within a few moments she will tell this maneverything--this man, whom she has deceived for many years. And while she goes slowly through the door, holding her boy, she feelsher husband's eyes still resting on her, and a great peace comes overher, the assurance that now many things would be right again.