en the hidden treasures of the establishment are shown to him; he
does not take anything, however, but says that he will make a purchase
some other time, and goes off with his trifle.

No, it is only for a jest, for a farewell. He wishes simply to ask
little Nelly what people are saying of him; he is vexed at his being
troubled about the matter, and still he is tempted to make the inquiry.

He is not aware that he has rung--he goes up-stairs--he feels for the
key in his pocket--he has quite forgotten that he hasn't one any more.

The door is opened, the maid looks at him with astonishment. Nobody is
in. A lamp of pale red glass is burning in the balcony room; the little
alabaster statue is smiling; Pranken has another lamp brought to him;
he will wait. He looks through the rooms, he recognizes the chairs, the
sofas, everything is still as he had arranged it.

A perfume strange to him pervades the room; it must be the fashion
now,--one always falls a little behind the times in the country.

The clock of the cathedral strikes, the theatre performances must be
over. On the table lie photograph albums; Pranken looks through them,
he searches for his own picture; it is no longer there, but there are
other faces that he does not know. He shuts the albums.

There is a book lying on the table, too; flowers culled from the German
poets "for women by a woman's hand." Pranken begins to read it. They
are strange beings, these poets! He stands up by the fireplace, glowing
coals are sparkling in it; but really there was no fire-place, and no
glowing coals; for they never burned, but were always piled up in that
way; fire-place and coals were only an elegant ornament of the room.

The cathedral clock strikes again; still no one comes. At length
Pranken takes out his card, and leaves it on the bouquet which the
alabaster statue holds in its hand; he leaves the place. It is better
so. You have acted bravely, as you meant to do--of course.

He smiled at his virtue.

Pah! He would have to laugh and give a little play to his exuberance of
spirit again one of these days; this everlasting morality begins to be
tiresome. But Manna----

All at once Pranken felt a pang shoot through his heart, as if he had
inflicted a wound on Manna.

He shook his head, and laughed outright at the childishness into which
he had fallen. And still he could not shake off an impression, that at
that hour something was happening to Manna; he knew not what