MAGDA.
At first, perhaps. Once on the way, though, my heart beat most wonderfully, as it used to do when I'd learnt my lesson badly. And I always did learn my lessons badly. When I stood before the hotel, the German House,--just think, the German House, where the great officials and the great artists stayed,--there I had again the abject reverence as of old, as if I were unworthy to step on the old threshold. I entirely forgot that I was now myself a so-called great artist. Since then, every evening I have stolen by the house,--very quietly, very humbly,--always almost in tears.
HEFFTERDINGT.
And nevertheless you are going away.