Passing the Temple of Jupiter, I walked up the steep road that winds along the side of the Acropolis. Nothing stirred. The moon seemed to be fixed in the sky by its own cold passion. The thick dust on the road looked like powdered silver. A few crickets chirped. Up above, within the Parthenon itself no doubt, a man was singing one of the Dichterliebe. It was a night of intolerable heartache. My soul seemed to melt and diffuse itself through every part of my body....
I arrived at the gates and, refusing the proffered services of a guide, was admitted. Above me the columns of the Parthenon gleamed coldly in the light of the moon. I mounted the marble steps, reached the nearest column, and touched it. For a moment I felt soothed. Sitting down, I pondered on that turn of Fate which had brought me to Athens, had directed me to that hotel, had guided me to that table. Even here where I sat her spirit was about me. Oh, if only she were there by my side! If only my lips were on hers and her hand on my heart!
Almost suffocated with longing, I arose and wandered to and fro, looking at everything, but seeing nothing.
Then, near the Caryatides, I stumbled upon her. She was lying full-length on the ground.
“So you have come, Victor,” she said.
For a moment I paused, breathless and afraid.
“No: it is I.”
“You?”
“Lovelace lent me his ticket.”
“Thinking he himself would escape?”