slowly towards him, laid her head on his shoulder, and they wept together.
Afterwards he had an encounter with Guste who wanted to nag. Diederich told her pointblank that she was only using Emma's misfortune in order to have her revenge for the not altogether auspicious circumstances under which she herself had got married. "Emma, at least, is not throwing herself at any one's head." Guste screamed: "Did I throw myself at yours?" He cut her short. "In any case, she is my sister!" … And as she was now living under his protection, he began to find her interesting, and to show her unusual respect. After meals, he used to kiss her hand, in spite of Guste's grins. He compared the two women. How much more common Guste was! Magda, even, whom he had favoured because she was successful, no longer compared in his memory with the abandoned Emma. Through her misfortune Emma had become more refined and, so to speak, more elusive. When her hand lay there, so white and so absent-mindedly, and Emma was sunk silently in her own thoughts, as if in an unknown abyss, Diederich felt touched by the premonition of a deeper world. The attribute of a fallen woman, unnatural and despicable in others, lent Emma, Diederich's sister, a strange shimmering air of questionable charm. Emma was now both more touching and more brilliant.
The lieutenant, who had caused all this, lost notably in comparison—and so did the Power, in whose name he had triumphed. Diederich discovered that Power could sometimes present a common and vulgar appearance, Power and everything that went with it, success, honour, loyalty. He looked at Emma and was forced to question the value of what he had attained or was still striving for; Guste and her money, the monument, the favour of the authorities, Gausenfeld, distinctions and high office. He looked at Emma and thought of Agnes. Agnes had cultivated tenderness and love in him, she
