ehind the counter smiles
bitterly, and now looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth. I,
assuming the practical, mention the class of goods referred to by
Fraeulein Sartorius, which she unwillingly brings forth, and we
straightway purchase. The errand accomplished, Eugen takes Sigmund by
the hand, makes a grand bow to the young woman, and instructs his son to
take off his hat, and, this process being complete, we sally forth
again, and half-way home Eugen remarks that it was very kind of that
young lady to help us.

"Very," I assent, dryly, and when Sigmund has contributed the artless
remark that all the ladies laughed at us and looked at us, and has been
told by his father not to be so self-conceited, for that no one can
possibly wish to look at us, we arrive at home, and the stockings are
tried on.

Constantly I saw this willingness to charm on the part of women;
constantly the same utter ignorance of any such thought on the part of
Eugen, who was continually expressing his surprise at the kindness of
people, and adding with the gravest simplicity that he had always found
it so, at which announcement Karl laughed till he had to hold his sides.

And Sigmund? Since the day when Courvoisier had said to me, slowly and
with difficulty, the words about parting, he had mentioned the subject
twice--always with the same intention expressed. Once it was when I had
been out during the evening, and he had not. I came into our
sitting-room, and found it in darkness. A light came from the inner
room, and, going toward it, I found that he had placed the lamp upon a
distant stand, and was sitting by the child's crib, his arms folded, his
face calm and sad. He rose when he saw me, brought the lamp into the
parlor again, and said:

"Pardon, Friedel, that I left you without light. The time of parting
will come, you know, and I was taking a look in anticipation of the time
when there will be no one there to look at."

I bowed. There was a slight smile upon his lips, but I would rather have
heard a broken voice and seen a mien less serene.

The second, and only time, up to now, and the events I am coming to, was
once when he had been giving Sigmund a music lesson, as we called
it--that is to say, Eugen took his violin and played a melody, but
incorrectly, and Sigmund told him every time a wrong note was played, or
false time kept. Eugen sat, giving a look now and then at the boy, whose
small, delicate face was bright with inte