ying on the table. He
pounced upon it with a desperate hope. But it was only the monthly bill
for the hire of the piano.

In entering, he had made some noise, and Frau Krause was in the room
before he knew it. She was primed for an angry scene. But he made short
work of her complaints and accusations.

"To-morrow! I'll have time for all that to-morrow."

He turned the key in the door, and sitting down before the
writing-table, commenced to go through drawers and pigeonholes. It had
not been a habit of his to keep letters; but nevertheless a certain
number had accumulated, and these he was averse to let fall into the
hands of strangers. He performed his work coolly, with a pedantic
thoroughness. He had no sympathy with those people, who, doing what he
was about to do, left ragged ends behind them. His mind had always
inclined to law and order. And so, having written a note authorising
Frau Krause to keep his books and clothes, in place of the outstanding
rent, he put a match to the fire which was laid in the stove, and, on
his knees before it, burnt all such personal trifles as had value for
himself alone. He postponed, to the last, even handling the small
packet made up of the letters he had had from Louise. Then their turn
came, too. Kneeling before the stovedoor, he dropped them, one by one,
into the flames. The last to burn was the first he had received--a mere
hastily scrawled line, a twisted note, which opened as it blackened. I
MUST SPEAK TO YOU. WILL YOU COME TO ME THIS EVENING? As he watched it
shrivel, he had a vivid recollection of that long past day. He
remembered how he had tried to shave, and how he had dressed himself in
his best, only to fling back again into his working-clothes, annoyed
with himself for even harbouring the thought. Yes; but that had always
been his way: he had expended consideration and delicacy where none was
necessary; he had seen her only as he wished to see her.--After this,
the photographs. They were harder to burn; he was forced to tear them
across, in two, three pieces. Even then, the flames licked slowly; he
watched them creep up--over her dress, her hands, her face.

Afternoon had turned to evening. When, at length, everything was in
order, he lay down on the sofa to wait for it to grow quite dark. But
almost at once, as if his back had been eased of a load, he fell
asleep. When he opened his eyes again, the lamp had burned low, and
filled the room with a poisonous vapour. I