is the last drop in the cup of bitterness.
This blow strikes at the very roots, and no storm is needed to level to
the ground the falling tree a child could overturn it. And that this
blow should come from the hand, from which I least expected it. That
just where I had hoped to ease my heart, I have brought it back more
heavy still. To-day I at last found him on the Wassermauer. The sun
shone brightly; I felt revived and hoped to gain peace and relief from
the conversation I had so long wished for. I thought I could easily
explain to him this last occurrence, and I was not disappointed; he
smiled when I told him how sorry I was for my want of truth towards
him. He took my hand and before releasing it he pressed it to his lips.
I felt strangely moved. He had heard of the legacy of the young Pole
but had never doubted that I would refuse it. Everything now I thought
was smoothed and settled, and I cast a grateful look at the sun as if
his kindly beams had cleared it all.

How came it that we again turned to that unlucky theme? Alas it was my
fault. I wished to convince him more fully still that my feelings for
the poor madman had always been cool, and indifferent; so I began again
by saying, how the bare thought of that meeting filled me with horror;
how inexcusable it was to let people who were so evidently deranged
walk about unwatched. He looked straight before him, and said: "You are
mistaken dear Marie, he was not more deranged than I am who sit beside
you, and I hope I do not inspire you with fear. He even has the
advantage over me, for he has eased his heart of the burden which still
oppresses mine."

"I do not understand you," I replied, and I spoke the truth.

"Then I will continue silent;" what good could speaking do me?

After a pause: "But no, why should I remain silent you might then only
fancy something worse. Is it so contemptible, if a few steps from the
grave we once more look back on life, and there perceive a happiness
which would render it loveable and worth having if only it were not too
late, and if then one grows distracted with misery and longing, and
with rage against fate? If though dying one longs to press to one's
heart the dear one who is denied to us, and breathe our last breath on
her lips? That is what happened to the poor lad who now sleeps a
dreamless sleep--and so...." He paused and looked at me. There was not
a soul to be seen underneath the poplars and he again took my hand.
"You