Heinrich says
I can remember the day when my mother told me, “Papa has gone away.” When he didn’t come back, I imagined for a long time that he had died, and I often wept bitterly about it at night. But after a while I met him in the street and with him was that woman for whom he left my mother. I stood inside a doorway so that he might not see me. I, a child, was ashamed in his presence. Yes, I soon understood that my mother was quite free, free as if she had really been widowed. Pardon me, I express myself badly.
(More warmly)
But why should not we speak naturally of simple and natural things, especially at such a time? I felt impelled to take your hand as if it were indeed my father’s, for I know how dearly my mother loved you. There you mistake, Herr Hausdorfer, I understand very clearly. If I could bring my poor mother back to you, to us–my God! What would I not give to have her sitting here with us for one single evening!