"He is the very man I have always dreamt of," cried she; "young, but not too young, so that one can feel respect for him; wise, but not too wise, so that one is not afraid of him; brave, but no boaster; and then such beautiful white teeth when he laughs, and he laughs so readily and pleasantly. I should like him to be always laughing."
"How could you laugh as you did?"
"What was I to do? I had been serious for so long, I must laugh at something. And his dress! But do you know, as we said good-night to him just now, I was not at all inclined to laugh, I was quite agitated, and felt more like crying. I felt as if I should never see him again, and ought to apologise to him for all my rudeness. Now you are getting serious too; confess that you, too, are in love with him."
"I agree to everything that you have said of him, but as to being in love, that is going rather far."
"Not for me, not for my heart; only feel how it beats! Five minutes is enough to set my heart at work. I do not know how it is, but to see and to love are all one with me. One often makes mistakes, however; very often."
Meta seated herself on a stool, began to unplait her red gold hair, and said in a tragical tone:
"The first time--it is an immense while ago, I was about twelve years old--I fell in love with my brother's tutor. I have got a brother, you must know. He lives now in Lower Pomerania, where for the least possible amount of money the largest possible amount of sand can be bought. Of course the tutor has been married a long time now, and is a clergyman, and of course lives also in Lower Pomerania, close to my brother, and I saw him there this winter at a christening. Oh, how ashamed of myself I was!"
And Meta covered her face with her hands, and shook out her hair in front of her, till it fell like a thick veil to the ground.
"How ashamed of myself I was! It was dreadful! And if it had been only once! But the same story has been repeated at least twenty times--the last time in February, in Berlin, at the opera, in the first row of boxes. Papa said he was a pickpocket; but papa sees pickpockets everywhere when he is in Berlin, and spoils every enjoyment and destroys every illusion, and yet it is so pleasant to have illusions, when one is seventeen and inclined that way! Are you asleep already?"
"No, but I am very tired; give me a kiss, and then go to bed too."