the carriage waiting and the young count's saddle-horse standing close
by--I call him young, although one never thinks of his age, for can a
man who never really experiences anything grow old?--And here are three
views of the interior: the dining-hall, the conservatory, and the
boudoir for the young countess. It can't be denied that he, or at least
his upholsterer, has good taste, but the master of the house is an
unwelcome addition to all this magnificence. I told him so to his face.
His only answer was a sigh."

"And how long is this proceeding to continue?" Edwin repeated.

Toinette threw the photographs back into the box and rose from the
sofa. "You jealous friend; why should you desire to disgust me with
this innocent pleasure in the evening of my life. Haven't you looked
into my strong box? I do not wish to spend my days in gloom before the
last thaler is exhausted."

"And then?"

"Then? I thought we had agreed that we are superfluous in the world,
when we can no longer be useful nor give pleasure to ourselves or
others."

"And have you already gone so far?"

"Exactly so far. That is, I should, as he says, not only make my count
happy but enable him really to live, if I would give myself to him. But
I ask you, what kind of a life would it be for us both! A quicker,
plainer, more unequivocal suicide would be preferable. And besides for
whom could and should I live? True, I believe you're an honest and
sincere friend, but haven't even you during the last few weeks, managed
to do very well without me? And would you be able to enjoy the little
pleasure my existence affords you, if you should see that I was
dragging out the most miserable days, under a burden of deprivations
and petty cares, which would crush my whole nature and at last destroy
me?" She had uttered the last words with increasing agitation, pacing
restlessly up and down the room. It had grown dark. Little Jean knocked
and asked whether his mistress wanted lights. "No," she answered
curtly. The boy noiselessly retired.

"Toinette," said Edwin, "will you listen five minutes, without
interrupting me?"

"Speak. I would rather listen, than talk myself. My thoughts, when
uttered aloud, have such a strange sound, that an icy shiver thrills
me. Speak, speak!"

"You've reached a point where you can neither stand still nor go on, I
mean in the direction you have adopted. There's apparently but one
other course: to plunge into the abyss. But that's onl