The Möhrings waited up until midnight and twice added water to the teapot. But when their tenant still had not arrived, the old woman said, “Thilde, why should we burn so much kerosene? He’ll not be coming home tonight. And if he does, he’ll probably not be wanting us to see him in his condition. He's probably in Toepfer's Hotel, down there in the Bierkeller; that's where they all sit around.”

So they went to bed and lay quietly and did not speak. But there was no question of sleeping. Thilde reflected upon Hugo's behavior over the entire evening and upon this sitting around in a pub at night, which lay far beyond her calculations. The old woman was still preoccupied with the play. It was already striking one when she sat up and said softly, “Thilde, are you asleep?”

“No, Mother.”

“That's good, Child. I’m so scared. Is it from the tea? But I have such palpitations and keep seeing the old man …”

“Oh, Mother, do let the old man be. He's been asleep for two hours and you have to sleep, too.”

“But the only thing is, the red-haired man …”

“Yes, he's learned his lesson.”

“And what happened to the poor little mite, the young girl—what was her name?”

“Amalie.”

“That's right, Amalie. But now she's more or less orphaned. Even if they did get the old fellow out, he won't be around for long.”

“No, that he won’t, Mother. But now I’m going to get you a glass of water and then you’ll turn over on your other side.”

“All right, I’ll count to a hundred.”

It was assumed that Hugo would get up late, but the opposite was true. He rang earlier than usual and had to wait some ten minutes for his breakfast. Thilde attempted to excuse the lateness, but he said it was of no consequence. He himself should apologize, coming home at four and breakfast at seven—that was almost unnatural.