then, gathering him to him, cover him with kisses. I smiled. At the
moment I felt neutral--experienced neither pleasure nor pain from the
sight. I had loved the man so eagerly and intensely--with such warmth,
fervor, and humility. It seemed as if now a pause had come (only for a
time, I knew, but still a pause) in the warm current of delusion, and I
contemplated facts with a dry, unmoved eye. After all--what was he? A
man who seemed quite content with his station--not a particularly good
or noble man that I could see; with some musical talent which he turned
to account to earn his bread. He had a fine figure, a handsome face, a
winning smile, plenty of presence of mind, and an excellent opinion of
himself.

Stay! Let me be fair--he had only asserted his right to be treated as a
gentleman by one whom he had treated in every respect as a lady. He did
not want me--nor to know anything about me--else, why could he laugh for
very glee as his boy's eyes met his? Want me? No! he was rich already.
What he had was sufficient for him, and no wonder, I thought, with a
jealous pang.

Who would want to have anything to do with grown-up people, with their
larger selfishnesses, more developed self-seeking--robust jealousies and
full-grown exactions and sophistications, when they had a beautiful
little one like that? A child of one's own--not any child, but that very
child to love in that ideal way. It was a relation that one scarcely
sees out of a romance; it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.

His life was sufficient to him. He did not suffer as I had been
suffering. Suppose some one were to offer him a better post than that he
now had. He would be glad, and would take it without a scruple. Perhaps,
for a little while some casual thought of me might now and then cross
his mind--but not for long; certainly in no importunate or troublesome
manner. While I--why was I there, if not for his sake? What, when I
accepted the proposal of von Francius, had been my chief thought? It
had been, though all unspoken, scarcely acknowledged--yet a whispered
force--"I shall not lose sight of him--of Eugen Courvoisier." I was
rightly punished.

I felt no great pain just now in thinking of this. I saw myself, and
judged myself, and remembered how Faust had said once, in an immortal
passage, half to himself, half to Mephisto:

"Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren."

And that read both ways, it comes to the same thing.

"Entbeh