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minutes there was deep silence, with nothing but raindrops dripping from the branches of the maple trees and the glass roof of the greenhouse. Then the mouth organ started up again, this time with a march. Somewhere not far away a church clock struck. I counted the strokes. It was ten o'clock. Was it as late as that? And here I was sitting and listening to a mouth organ, while over there Dina and her brother . . . perhaps they needed me, they were bound to be looking for me, Dina couldn't possibly think of everything herself.
    It struck me that there were a large number of things that had to be attended to. In a case like this the police must be sent for and the authorities informed, the medical officer of health must be sent for, and the undertaker — and here I was sitting and listening to music from a kitchen window. And of course the press must be told. Of course Dina could not possibly think of everything herself. What were her friends for? Nothing about suicide must be allowed to get into the papers. Someone must hire a cab and make the round of the newspaper offices. Sudden death of a great actor, a beloved artist. At the height of his powers. Irreplaceable loss to the German stage. The many thousands of his admirers. The grief- stricken family.
    And then there was the theatre management: no-one had given them a thought. It was essential that next week's playbill be altered, and there was no time to lose. It was Sunday, would anybody still be on duty at the office at this time of night? It was ten o'clock, someone must telephone immediately or — better still — I must get in touch with the director. To think that I, a friend of the family, had not thought of that before.
    I wanted to get up and go immediately. I was seized with an irresistible impulse to act, to do whatever was necessary, to take full responsibility for all the needs of the hour. We must telephone at once, I said to myself again, in five minutes it may be too late — nobody will be left in the office — Richard III on Tuesday — but in spite of all this I just went on sitting there limply and feebly and dead tired, incapable of carrying out any of my intentions.
    I'm ill, I murmured to myself and made another attempt to get up. Oh, of course, I'm feverish, sitting in the cold night air without hat or coat, and getting wet into the bargain. It may be the death of me. I took the newspaper from my pocket, heaven knows why I had brought it with me, I carefully spread it out on the bench so that I shouldn't have to sit in the damp, and suddenly I heard my old doctor's voice, I heard it as distinctly as if he were standing beside me.
    "Oh dear, baron, so we're unwell, are we? Been overdoing things a bit lately, haven't we, and feeling rather tired? Well, what about a few days in bed, two or three perhaps, we have plenty of time at our disposal, haven't we, and we shan't be missing anything. We'll keep well covered up, shan't we, and hot tea certainly won't do us any harm, and no letters, no newspapers and no visitors will do us good, yes, a great deal of good, won't it? So let us take the good old doctor's advice and go straight home, there's nothing for us to do here, we're really ill, feverish, aren't we? Just let me feel your pulse ..."
    I obediently held out my hand and awoke from dream and sleep and there I was, sitting alone on the cold, wet bench. I really felt ill, I was shivering with cold, my teeth were chattering wildly. I wanted to go home, I wanted to slip away without saying goodbye, I wasn't wanted here, there was no- one here who needed me. Dina and Felix knew what to do, and besides, Dr Gorski was there, I was in everyone's way.
    Good night, garden, and good night to you too, mouth organ, my companion during this lonely hour — and good night to you for ever, my old friend Eugen, I'm going, I'm leaving you, you need me no longer.
    I rose to my feet, tired, wet through and frozen, and I wanted to go and groped for my hat, but I