“Impossible, mein Fräulein,” with the same chilly little bow as before.
Struggling to repress my tears, I said no more, but passed out, cut to the heart. The door was closed gently behind me. I felt as if it had closed upon a bright belief of my youth. I leaned for a moment against the passage wall and pressed my hand against my eyes. From within came the sound of a child’s voice, “Mein vater,” and the soft, deep murmur of Eugen’s answer; then I went down-stairs and into the open street.
That hated, hateful three thalers ten groschen were still clasped in my hand. What was I to do with it? Throw it into the Rhine, and wash it away forever? Give it to some one in need? Fling it into the gutter? Send it him by post? I dismissed that idea for what it was worth. No; I would obey his prohibition. I would keep it—those very coins, and when I felt inclined to be proud and conceited about anything on my own account, or disposed to put down superhuman charms to the account of others, I would go and look at them, and they would preach me eloquent sermons.
As I went into the house, up the stairs to my room, the front door opened again and Anna Sartorius overtook me.
“I thought you had left the probe?” said I, staring at her.
“So I had, Herzchen,” said she, with her usual ambiguous, mocking laugh; “but I was not compelled to come home, like a good little girl, the moment I came out of the Tonhalle. I have been visiting a friend. But where have you been, for the probe must have been over for some time? We heard the people go past; indeed, some of them were staying in the house where I was. Did you take a walk in the moonlight?”
“Good-night,” said I, too weary and too indifferent even to answer her.
“It must have been a tiring walk; you seem weary, quite ermüdet,” said she, mockingly, and I made no answer.
“A haupt-probe is a dismal thing after all,” she called out to me from the top of the stairs.
From my inmost heart I agreed with her.