ewell dinner in honor of Clara Hilst. I did not go to the dinner,
which took place yesterday, but said good-by to Clara at the station.
I have just returned thence. The good soul was going away, most likely
disappointed, and with some resentment against me in her heart, but
upon seeing me, forgave me everything, and we parted the best of
friends. I felt too that I should miss her, and that the loneliness
around me would be greater still. On my mystic fields there will be
no farewells. This one was truly sad,--in addition to it the sky was
overcast, and there was a drizzling rain that looked as if it would
last for days. In spite of that a great many people had come to see
the last of the celebrated artist. Her sleeping-car was filled with
bouquets and wreaths like a hearse; she will have to discard them
unless she lets herself be suffocated. Clara, at the moment of
departure, without taking into account what people might think or say,
devoted herself to me as much as the bustle of the place would permit.
I went into her carriage, and we conversed together like two old
friends, not paying any attention to the old and always silent
relative, or to the other people, who at last retired discreetly into
the corridor. I held both Clara's hands, and she looked at me with
those honest blue eyes of hers, and said in a moved voice:--

"It is only to you I say it openly, that I never was so sorry to go
away from anywhere as from here. There is no time to say much, with
all these people around us, but believe me, I am sorry to go. At
Frankfurt I meet many people, great artists, scientists; only there is
a difference,--you are like one of the more delicate instruments. As
regards yourself, I will not say anything."

"You will let me write to you?"

"I will write too. I wanted to ask you that. I have my music, but it
is not always sufficient now. I think you too will want to hear from
me now and then; though you may have many friends, you have none more
sincere and devoted than I. I am very foolish; anything upsets me, and
it is time to go."

"We are both wanderers on the earth, you as an artist, I as a
Bohemian; therefore it will not be farewell, but au revoir."

"Yes, au revoir, and that speedily. You too are an artist. You may not
play or paint, but you are an artist all the same. I saw it the first
moment I met you,--and also that you may seem happy, but are very sad
at heart. Remember there is a German girl who will be alwa