The following day I went, as usual, to the Polytechnic. But before going I wrote to my uncle.
I visited the Hertzes after dinner, in order to be able to give my friend some information about his father's condition. The old man was in bed; he coughed and had a little fever.
Hertz inquired at once for Minna, and asked why she had not come.
"We thought you were inseparable," Mrs. Hertz added.
It was a good thing that the yellow Venetian blinds were down; otherwise the distress caused by her words would have been evident. I felt that I changed colour, and that a sudden spasm of pain had taken away my breath. In as indifferent a manner as I could assume I said where she had gone, and gave them her love.
The old people seemed very astonished that she had gone away so suddenly without saying good-bye. "And the day before yesterday she had known nothing about it!"
"She only had the letter yesterday," I said. "Her cousin wished so much that she should come at once, she was not well—depression, I think."
"Yes, then I can imagine she had to go," Mrs. Hertz said; "Minna is always so kind when any one is ill."
"What a pity it should be just now," Hertz com-
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