The governess gave evidence against her—she had heard the child threatening angrily to throw the horse out of the window, and it was useless for the girl to try denying it any further. There was a small outburst of tears and despair. Irene looked at her husband. It was as if he were sitting in judgement not on the child but on herself and her own fate. She might be facing him like that tomorrow, her own shoulders shaking with sobs, the same break in her voice. Her husband looked stern as long as the child stuck to her lie, and then broke her resistance down word by word, without ever letting one of her denials anger him. But once denial had given way to a fit of the sulks he spoke kindly to her, showing but at the same time to some extent excusing the inevitability of her actions, pointing out that she had done her shocking deed in her first, unreasoning anger, never stopping to think that it would really hurt her brother. Then he explained to the child, who was getting less and less sure of herself, that he could understand what she had done, but it was reprehensible all the same, and he spoke so warmly yet so forcefully that in the end she burst into tears and began crying frantically. And finally, through her torrent of tears, she stammered out her confession.

Irene hurried over to embrace the weeping child, but the little girl angrily pushed her away. Her husband, too, shook his head, a warning to her not to show pity too soon, for he did not want the offence to go unpunished, and the punishment he decreed, which was slight in itself but went to the child’s heart, was that she could not go to a children’s party next day, after she had been looking forward to it for weeks. The child was still in tears as she heard sentence passed, and her brother began crowing over her, but his premature show of malice instantly brought retribution down on his own head. The upshot was that he too was refused permission to go to the party because of the malice he had shown his sister. Sadly, comforted only by the fact that they were both being punished, the two of them finally went away, and Irene was left alone with her husband.

Here at last, she suddenly felt, was an opportunity for them to stop conversing through insinuations, a chance for her make her own confession under cover of a discussion of the little girl’s guilt and her admission of it. A sense of relief came over her at the idea of being able to confess and ask for compassion, at least in veiled form. If he looked kindly on her plea for the child, it would be like a sign and an omen, and she knew that then she might be able to summon up the courage to speak on her own behalf.

“Oh, Fritz,” she began, “Are you really going to stop the children going to their party tomorrow? They’ll be very unhappy, especially Helene. After all, what she did wasn’t so very bad. Why are you so hard on her? Don’t you feel sorry for the poor child?”

He looked at her. Then he sat down at his leisure. Yes, he obviously seemed willing to discuss the subject at greater length, and a foreboding, both pleasant and unnerving, made her suspect that he was prepared to argue it point-by-point with her. Everything in her was waiting for his long pause to end. But perhaps intentionally, perhaps because he was deep in thought, he let it go on for a long time before continuing.

“Don’t I feel sorry for her, you ask? Well, I won’t say any more about that today. She feels better now that she’s been punished, although her punishment seems bitter too. She was unhappy yesterday when she put the broken bits of the poor little horse in the stove. Everyone in the house was looking for it, and she was afraid all day that it was sure to be found. That fear was worse than the punishment, which after all is something definite, and whether it’s hard on her or not, it’s still better than the terrible uncertainty and cruel suspense she was feeling earlier. As soon as she knew her punishment she felt all right. Don’t let her tears lead you astray; yes, they came pouring out, but they’d been dammed up inside her before, and they hurt worse there than on the surface. If she weren’t a child, or if we could somehow see right into her mind, I think we’d discover that she is really glad to have been found out, in spite of her punishment and her tears. She’s certainly happier than she was yesterday, when she appeared not to have a care in the world, and no one suspected her.”

Irene looked up. She felt as if every word were directed at her.