ifice of my life could be of any
possible service to this most miserable being. Yet as often as she
missed me for a longer time than the few hours daily to which she had
become accustomed, she lapsed into the most violent uneasiness, and
only became quiet again when she saw me once more. I had to reconcile
myself to the idea that I was necessary to her existence--to an
existence that I could by no possibility make happy, or enliven, or
even lighten. For so long as I was at her side she scarcely noticed me;
indeed, she often appeared not even to recognize me. And still she
could not exist without me; and in the asylum, to which she was once
carried for the sake of an experiment, she lapsed into a state so
pitiable that even 'a girl without a heart' could not but be moved by
it."

"Horrible! And you lived with her in this way for twelve long years?"

"For twelve long years! Does it still seem to you so incomprehensible,
so 'stupid' of the men that they did not positively force themselves
upon a girl who would have brought, with a little bit of beauty and
property, this face into their house? No, dear, the men are not so
stupid, after all. Even if I had been engaged, and had loved my lover
with my whole heart, I could never have expected him to join his life
to that of a woman who was chained fast to so horrible a lot."

"But now, since you have become free--"

"Free! A fine freedom to be allowed to dance when the ball is over, to
console myself with artificial or painted flowers for the rosy time
that was neglected. I once read somewhere that happiness is like wine;
if one does not drink up the entire cask at once, but pours some of it
into bottles, some time one will have the good of it. It will have time
to ripen and become nobler, if it is of the right sort. There may be
some truth in this; but, no matter how noble it may be, the old wine
has lost its bouquet. The happiness that one hasn't enjoyed when young
has a bitter taste; and, for that matter, who guarantees that I shall
ever slake my thirst again? Many thousands never moisten their lips,
and live soberly on. Why should I fare better? Because I have more
beauty than many! That would be fine, indeed! Fate is not in the least
gallant, and draws up its decrees without regard to persons. Now, when
I stand before the glass, I always see the same well-known face that
has lost its youth. I seem to myself like a silk dress that has hung in
the closet for twelve years