t the twittering of the birds and the meaningless remarks of
the servants, soon forces itself upon one. Besides, we like to discuss
what we have read. To be sure--" she added hesitatingly, tapping the
book that lay beside her portfolio with her rosy finger--"to speak of
what you have lately brought me--"

"What have you read?"

"A great many of the poems; I was familiar with almost all from seeing
them in collections, some even when I was at school. But in reading
them together I now realize their beauty, at least so far as I
understand them. But--Werther--you will scarcely believe that although
I am twenty-one this is the first time I have read it."

"What an enviable person!"

"How so?"

"I devoured it at fifteen, when I was far too young and verdant to
enjoy that most beautiful and mature of all the works ever written for
young people."

"Perhaps I'm already too old," she said blushing, "or still too young.
For--it will seem very foolish and perhaps incomprehensible to you: I
had some difficulty in getting through it.

"That is," she hastily corrected herself, "I found certain things
wonderfully beautiful, the spirit, the clearness, the lofty, melancholy
thoughts, and what a living thing nature seems to become--I have copied
many passages to read again. But the whole, the work itself--you will
surely think me childish or heartless, if I confess that I was not in
the least affected when Werther shot himself."

He gazed into her black eyes with a quiet smile.

"Not even as much by Pere Goriot" said he.

"No," she answered in an undertone. "I cannot help it, nothing makes
any impression upon me unless I can imagine it might happen to myself.
This good Pere Goriot, who is so ill repaid for all he does for his
daughters, the daughters themselves, who have an actual passion for
spending a great deal of money and living in fabulous luxury, I can
understand very well. I too had a father who would have sacrificed
himself for me if necessary, as I would have done for him, and it is by
no means strange to me that people can set their hearts on a thousand
beautiful things which only the rich should possess. But that a man can
no longer live, because he--because he is in love--with somebody's
wife--is a thing of which I have no idea. Why do you look at me so?
Don't you believe me? You can do so safely, I always say what I think."

"I'm only looking at you," he replied, "because I do not know how to
reconcile your wo