"Wherever the winds and waves carry me!" he replied with sorrowful pathos, and then paced heavily up and down the shop.
"So you're going to sea! Dear me, how frightened I should be! Do you know, Herr Franzelius, I shall tremble every time that the east wind blows and the window panes rattle and the gas lights flicker--and you'll be on the angry sea--"
"Will you really do that, Fräulein Reginchen?" he asked hastily, pausing before her. "If you were in earnest--but no, why should you give yourself useless anxiety about a man who can never--to be sure, I--it will be a real cordial on my journey--and I wanted to say something else: I should like to take a keepsake to remember you and this hour."
"A keepsake?"--she involuntarily glanced at her knitting work, at which he too was looking intently. "I'm just at the heel," she said, "and I suppose you'll not wait till it's done."
"No, Fräulein Reginchen," he replied, "don't think me so presuming as to ask for such a gift--your own handiwork--so unceremoniously. But--if I could find any of your father's work--but I've an ugly foot, which is hard to fit with ready made boots--"
"I could take your measure."
"Yes, you might do that; but no, Reginchen, in the first place I would not accept such a service from you--"
"I would do it willingly, besides, I'm accustomed to it."
"No, no! A creature like you, and such an unlucky mortal as I--but if I could find a pair already made--"
He looked around the walls, sighed, passed his hand through his hair, seemingly endeavoring to avoid her glance.