You've no need to blame yourself."
"Oh, yes," he replied and looked at his hands. "I haven't made a do of it."
"What?"
"I haven't made a do of it.
That's something for blame, not to make a do."
I glanced in surprise at the pitiful little figure in the red plush armchair. "Hasse," said I then, quietly, "that may be a reason, if you like, but not a matter for blame.
And anyway you have made-a do of it, up to now."
He shook his head vigorously.
"No, no, I drove my wife crazy with my everlasting fear of getting the sack.
And I haven't made a do of it.
What was I able to offer her?
Nothing-"
He sank into a brown study.
I got up and fetched the cognac bottle.
"Let's have a drink," said I. "Nothing is lost yet."
He raised his head.
"Nothing is lost yet," I repeated. "A human being is lost only when he is dead."
He nodded hastily and reached for the glass. But he put it down again without drinking.
"I was made head clerk yesterday," said he softly. "Chief accountant and head clerk.
The manager told me last night.
I got it because I worked overtime all these last months.
They've merged two offices.
The other head clerk has been sacked.
I get a rise of fifty marks." He suddenly looked at me desperately. "Do you think she would have stayed if she'd known that?"
"No," said I.
"Fifty marks more.
I could have given them to her.
She would have been able to buy things for herself.
And I have twelve hundred marks in the savings bank, too.
What was the use of saving now?
I wanted to have something to put by for her, if things went bad with us.
And now she has gone away because I did save for that."
He stared ahead once more.
"Hasse," said I, "I believe that has less to do with it than you think.
You mustn't brood over it, that's all.
You've only to get over the next few days. Then you'll know better what you want to do.
Your wife may even be^back here this evening, or to-morrow.
She will be thinking about it just as you-are."
"She will never come back," he answered.
"You don't know that."
"If I could tell her that I had got a rise and that we could have a holiday and take a trip on the savings—"
"You'll be able to tell her all that.
People don't part just like that, you know."
It surprised me that he did not seem to recognise at all that there was another man in the show.
But he had apparently not got that far; he only knew that his wife was gone —all the rest lay hidden still behind a dim mist.
I should have liked to tell him that in a week or two he would perhaps even be glad she was gone—but to have said so now in the midst of his trouble seemed to me unnecessarily brutal.
The truth is always too brutal, almost intolerable, to injured feelings.
I talked with him a while longer—only to let him talk I did not achieve anything—he merely went round in circles, but I had the feeling he was a bit calmer.
And he drank a cognac.
Then I heard Pat call next door.