Three days later, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, Maurice watched the train that carried her from him steam out of the DRESDENER BAHNHOF.
The clearness he had gained as to his own motives, and the ruthless probing of himself it induced, both led to the same conclusion: Louise must go away. The day after the ball, too, he had found her in a state of collapse, which was unparalleled even in the ups and downs of the past weeks.
"Anything!—do anything you like with me. I wish I had never been born;" and, though no muscle of her face moved, large slow tears ran down her sallow cheeks.
Unconsciously twisting and bending Herries's card, which was lying on the table, Maurice laid his plan before her. And having won the above consent, he did not let the grass grow under his feet. He applied to Miss Jensen for practical aid, and that lady was tactful enough to give it without curiosity. She knew Dresden well, recommended it as a lively place, and wrote forthwith to a PENSION there, engaging rooms for a lady who had just recovered from a severe illness. By tacit agreement, this was understood to cover any extravagance or imprudence, of which Louise might make herself guilty.
Now she had gone, and with her, the central interest of his life. But the tired gesture, with which he took off his hat and wiped his forehead, as he walked home, was expressive of the relief he felt that he was not going to see her again for some time.
He let a fortnight elapse—a fortnight of colourless days, unbroken by word or sign from her. Then, one night, he spent several hours writing to her—writing a carefully worded letter, in which he put forward the best reasons he could devise, for her remaining away altogether.
To this he received no answer.
X.
From one of the high, wooden benches, at the back of the amphitheatre in the ALBERTHALLE, where he had lain at full length, listening to the performance of a Berlin pianist, Krafft rose, full to the brim of impressions, and eager to state them.