. "He doesn't know how I idolize him," she said to
herself. "I know it very well, I knew it from the beginning, but I'm
always afraid of myself--and of him too. His love did not exist like
mine, from the first hour of our meeting, it has grown by degrees,
perhaps I should have startled him, if I had shown how the flames were
blazing in my soul. But it's wrong, he shall know of it when he
comes back. There's always too much philosophy between us--love is
folly--happy nonsense--laughing and weeping without sense or reason.
That's the way I've always loved him, to the disappearance and
forgetfulness of all reason, and he--he began differently, my few good
traits, my little share of cleverness attracted him. It was enough at
that time--he gave me what he had, and in my utter poverty it was an
untold treasure. But when he comes back, then he shall see what a
foolishly happy, loving wife he has in me--my beloved husband, my one
and all, my Lord and my God, my life and my world--"

Thus her rapturous longing found utterance in low confused murmurs,
while she wandered about the room, now taking in her hand the pen with
which he had written, and then with a caressing gesture stroking the
book that still lay open on his desk. Her temples throbbed feverishly,
she opened a window and leaned out into the dark street, where every
thing was asleep, except a kitten gliding over the stone door sill.

But who was approaching from the main street? Two men walking arm in
arm, and carrying canes and traveling satchels? And now she distinctly
heard the words: "You see, my boy, your little wife has not yet gone to
rest--mock widows never retire early--you've horrible pavements, and
the gas apparently relies upon receiving a little voluntary assistance
from the light of cigars. Is it much farther?"

"Heinrich," replied another voice, which thrilled the heart of the
listener at the window, "it would be better for us to go back and I'll
spend the night with you at the hotel. It's so late--so unexpected--I
know her--she won't close her eyes all night--and I--I am so utterly
exhausted--"

"Edwin!" cried a joyous voice from the only lighted window in the dark
street. The pedestrian involuntarily paused and grasped his friend's
arm with a convulsive pressure. "She's awake," he said hastily in an
undertone, "she has heard us, so it can't be helped! Not a word this
evening, do you hear? Poor darling, it will come soon enough; is that
you, Leah?" h