t he sat
and considered. To make it easier for him to give me a refusal, I
stretch out my hand a little, and say:

"Ah, well, of course, it is not of any use to you," and I smile to give
him the impression that I take it easily.

"Everything has to be of such a popular nature to be of any use to us,"
he replies; "you know the kind of public we have. But can't you try and
write something a little more commonplace, or hit upon something that
people understand better?"

His forbearance astonishes me. I understand that my article is
rejected, and yet I could not have received a prettier refusal. Not to
take up his time any longer, I reply:

"Oh yes, I daresay I can."

I go towards the door. Hem--he must pray forgive me for having taken up
his time with this ... I bow, and turn the door handle.

"If you need it," he says, "you are welcome to draw a little in
advance; you can write for it, you know."

Now, as he had just seen that I was not capable of writing, this offer
humiliated me somewhat, and I answered:

"No, thanks; I can pull through yet a while, thanking you very much,
all the same. Good-day!"

"Good-day!" replies the "commandor," turning at the same time to his
desk again.

He had none the less treated me with undeserved kindness, and I was
grateful to him for it--and I would know how to appreciate it too. I
made a resolution not to return to him until I could take something
with me, that satisfied me perfectly; something that would astonish the
"commandor" a bit, and make him order me to be paid half-a-sovereign
without a moment's hesitation. I went home, and tackled my writing once
more.

During the following evenings, as soon as it got near eight o'clock and
the gas was lit, the following thing happened regularly to me.

As I come out of my room to take a walk in the streets after the labour
and troubles of the day, a lady, dressed in black, stands under the
lamp-post exactly opposite my door.

She turns her face towards me and follows me with her eyes when I pass
her by--I remark that she always has the same dress on, always the same
thick veil that conceals her face and falls over her breast, and that
she carries in her hand a small umbrella with an ivory ring in the
handle. This was already the third evening I had seen her there, always
in the same place. As soon as I have passed her by she turns slowly and
goes down the street away from me. My nervous brain vibrated with
curiosity, and I be