Then he ordered Johanna to
bring the lamp into his room. The lamp came. In its green shade were
half-transparent ovals with photographs, various pictures of his wife
that had been made in Kessin for the other members of the cast when
they played Wichert's _A Step out of the Way_. Innstetten turned the
shade slowly from left to right and studied each individual picture.
Then he gave that up and, as the air was so sultry, opened the balcony
door and finally took up the package of letters again. He seemed to
have picked out a few and laid them on top the first time he looked
them over. These he now read once more in a half audible voice:
"Come again this afternoon to the dunes behind the mill. At old Mrs.
Adermann's we can see each other without fear, as the house is far
enough off the road. You must not worry so much about everything. We
have our rights, too. If you will say that to yourself emphatically, I
think all fear will depart from you. Life would not be worth the
living if everything that applies in certain specific cases should be
made to apply in all. All the best things lie beyond that. Learn to
enjoy them."
"'Away from here,' you write, 'flight.' Impossible. I cannot leave my
wife in the lurch, in poverty, along with everything else. It is out
of the question, and we must take life lightly, otherwise we are poor
and lost. Light-heartedness is our best possession. All is fate; it
was not so to be. And would you have it otherwise--that we had never
seen each other?"
Then came the third letter:
"Be at the old place again today.
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