a pair of gloves, and their mother did not dare to decide on whom they had been bestowed. Diederich sobbed. Everything had gone wrong, in politics, business and love. "What is left to me?" He opened the piano. He shivered, he felt so uncannily alone that he was afraid to make a noise. The sounds came of their own accord, his hands were unconscious of them. Folk songs, Beethoven and drinking songs rang out in the twilight, which was thereby cosily warmed so that a comfortable drowsiness filled the brain. At one moment it seemed to him that a hand was stroking the top of his head. Was it only a dream? No, for suddenly a glass full of beer stood on the piano. His good mother! Schubert, what loyal integrity, the soul of the mother country. … All was silent, and he did not notice it, until the clock struck: an hour had passed. "That was my Christmas," said Diederich, and he went out to join the others. He felt consoled and strengthened. As the girls were still jawing about the gloves, he declared that they had no sense of the fitness of things, and placed the gloves in his pocket, to have them changed for a pair for himself.
The whole Christmas season was overclouded by worry about the new machine. Six thousand marks for a New Patent Cylinder Machine, Maier System! He had no money in hand and, as things were, none was available. It was an incomprehensible fatality, a shabby perversity of men and circumstances which embittered Deiderich. When Sötbier was not there he banged the lid of his desk and threw the letter files about the room. As the new master, who had firmly grasped the reins of the business, he felt he must immediately launch into new enterprises; success awaited him and events would have to shape themselves to his personality! … He was angry and humble by turns, and took precautions in case of a catastrophe. He softened towards Sötbier; perhaps the old chap might yet be of some use. He also humbled
