The bell rings.
From the housekeeper's rooms floats an odour of fresh baked breads. They are having a feast there. Perhaps they mean to prepare one for the master, too.
A new book that has come a great distance to-day is in my hand.
I read. Another one has made the great discovery that the world begins with him.
Ah, did it not once begin with me, too?
To be young, to be young! Ah, even if one suffers need—only to be young!
But who, after all, would care to retrace the difficult road?
Perhaps you, O woman at my side?
I would wager that even you would not.
And I raise a questioning glance though I know her to be far … and who stands behind the kettle, framed by the rising of the bluish steam?