Deutscheri
'sme.̃ E.V.E. K. n E. w.
never before had I left home with an easier mind; I had left
nothing indone. My doctor's degree was a fait accompli; I had
buried the lllusions of youth, and a certain Jenny had become the
wife of a watchmaker. Thus I enjoyed the rare good fortune of
Sfarting on a journey without leaving a mi^tress behind, or taking
with me an illldsive passion. I was revelling in the sensation of
having arrived at the close of a chapter in my life. But now, now
all is different. Friederike is here.
It is getting late; I am on my terrace,- and write by the light of a
lamp which I have kindled on my table:.This is the time, for clear
thing. I go over again the conversation, the first I have had
with her for seven years, the first since that day.
We were on the beach at about lunch-time. I was sitting on a
deck-clair. People passed up and down. A woman with a little
boy was standing on the pier, too far off for me to see her features
distinctly. There was nothing about her that particularly struck
me; I only noticed that she had been standing on the same spot for
a long time, and then that she left the pier and came towards me.
She led the boy by the hand. Now I could see that she was
achtng and slender. Her face seemed familiar to me. She was
still about tén paces away when I rose quickly and went to meet
her. She had weiled, and then I knew who she was
"Yes, it’s 1,” she said, and held out her hand.
"I recognised you at once,” I said.
“I hope it wasn’t difficult,” she replied; “and you haven't alfered
in the least."
"Seven years,” I said.
She nodded, and repeated “Seven years.”
Then we were both silent. She was very charming. A smile
crept over her face as she turned to the boy, whose hand she still
held, and said, "Shake hands with the gentleman." The child
obeyed, but without looking at me.
"My little son," she said. He is a pretty, sunburnt little fellow,
with light blue eyes.
"It's nice to meet people again,” she began. “I never
thought...'
"It’s certainly curious,” I said.
“Why?” she asked, as she 16miled and looked me, for the first
time, straight in the eyes. “Doesn’t everyone travel in the
summer?”
At this moment it was on my laps to ask after her husband, but
I could not pronounce the words.
"How long do you intend saying here?" I asked instead.
“A fortnight. Then I am to meet my husband in Copenhagen.”
I gave her aduick glance, which she answered with an unoon¬
cerned “Are you surprised? ”
I felt [uncertain] of myself. Almost ill at esse. Suddenly it
'sme.̃ E.V.E. K. n E. w.
never before had I left home with an easier mind; I had left
nothing indone. My doctor's degree was a fait accompli; I had
buried the lllusions of youth, and a certain Jenny had become the
wife of a watchmaker. Thus I enjoyed the rare good fortune of
Sfarting on a journey without leaving a mi^tress behind, or taking
with me an illldsive passion. I was revelling in the sensation of
having arrived at the close of a chapter in my life. But now, now
all is different. Friederike is here.
It is getting late; I am on my terrace,- and write by the light of a
lamp which I have kindled on my table:.This is the time, for clear
thing. I go over again the conversation, the first I have had
with her for seven years, the first since that day.
We were on the beach at about lunch-time. I was sitting on a
deck-clair. People passed up and down. A woman with a little
boy was standing on the pier, too far off for me to see her features
distinctly. There was nothing about her that particularly struck
me; I only noticed that she had been standing on the same spot for
a long time, and then that she left the pier and came towards me.
She led the boy by the hand. Now I could see that she was
achtng and slender. Her face seemed familiar to me. She was
still about tén paces away when I rose quickly and went to meet
her. She had weiled, and then I knew who she was
"Yes, it’s 1,” she said, and held out her hand.
"I recognised you at once,” I said.
“I hope it wasn’t difficult,” she replied; “and you haven't alfered
in the least."
"Seven years,” I said.
She nodded, and repeated “Seven years.”
Then we were both silent. She was very charming. A smile
crept over her face as she turned to the boy, whose hand she still
held, and said, "Shake hands with the gentleman." The child
obeyed, but without looking at me.
"My little son," she said. He is a pretty, sunburnt little fellow,
with light blue eyes.
"It's nice to meet people again,” she began. “I never
thought...'
"It’s certainly curious,” I said.
“Why?” she asked, as she 16miled and looked me, for the first
time, straight in the eyes. “Doesn’t everyone travel in the
summer?”
At this moment it was on my laps to ask after her husband, but
I could not pronounce the words.
"How long do you intend saying here?" I asked instead.
“A fortnight. Then I am to meet my husband in Copenhagen.”
I gave her aduick glance, which she answered with an unoon¬
cerned “Are you surprised? ”
I felt [uncertain] of myself. Almost ill at esse. Suddenly it