For weeks and weeks I nursed my passion, fed on it, was made happy by it. Louisa Wagner did not appear to look on me with coldness; nay, she seemed flattered by my ardent glances, and, as I believed, had a feeling stronger for me than that of ordinary friendship. That she should love me with such devotion as I loved her was not to be thought of. This love of a young man when it is pure, as mine was, ennobles him, and beautifies all surrounding things. I sang at my work, though it was even so mean as the patching of boots. Louisa had two pairs of boots, and I soled and heeled them, one after the other, and my heart went into the stitches. I held them in my hands and kissed them--yes, I am not ashamed to confess it, I kissed them in a kind of rapture. I took them to bed with me. By the side of my bed hung a cage with a linnet in it. I told the bird in a whisper that the boots belonged to Louisa--ah, what foolish, foolish things we do when the fever is upon us!--and the linnet trilled out its joyfullest notes. I laughed, I chirruped, I shed tears, and when I knelt at my bedside and repeated my prayers, I pressed Louisa's boots to my heart. Upon the soling and heeling of those boots I would have liked to challenge the world. Surely such excellent workmanship could not have been produced by other hands than mine. Louisa Wagner thought so, and said so, as she took them from me and examined them.
"You will see," I said, "they will last for years."
"They are beautifully done," she said, and I fancied she gave me an admiring glance; "such fine stitches! You are really clever."
"I can earn a living," I said, and my voice trembled because of the meaning I wished to convey in the words.
"But," she said, "I cannot pay you for them for a long, long while. You will have to wait."
"In money," I said, "you can never pay me."
"Oh yes, I can, Gustave Fink," she replied.
"No," I insisted, "indeed you never can."
"Why?" she asked.
"I did not do them for money. I wish you to accept them from me; it will make me very proud."