"True," replied Wolf, and for a time remained silent and thoughtful.
Then he continued:
"What would you have? Fate destines us to live in a foreign country, without family intercourse, far from the circle with which one is united by early memories and the first affections of the heart; we do not definitely seek, Fate does not help us find. We adjust our lives to habits which really leave no room for a wife, and so the years flit by till some day we discover that we are bachelors and that it is too late to change."
"That is exactly my case; I did not suppose it was yours also."
"With me," replied Wolf, "something else is added. Recollections which make marriage rather dreaded than desired. We know how we have been loved, and fear that we shall not find such love again. We compare in advance a virtuous wife with the woman whose distant image is somewhat transfigured by the past, and confess that we have been completely spoiled for the part of a husband content to sit phlegmatically in the chimney corner."
"You still think of Helene?" cried Sigmund in surprise.
"Why shouldn't I?" replied Wolf, "you also remember her, as I see."
"True," Sigmund assented. "I have not forgotten her. She was a
bewitchingly beautiful and charming woman. What a tempting mouth!
What wicked eyes! And her clever talk! Her merry disposition!
Wherever she was, she filled everything with life and animation."
Wolf gazed thoughtfully into vacancy, and made no reply.
"She loved you very dearly," Sigmund added.
Still Wolf remained silent.