ed, while my mind remained cold, and my
heart contracted with disgust. I consciously profaned the sacred words
of love by applying them to a man whom I chose for his money.

Meanwhile I developed into the frivolous society woman everybody took me
to be. Every woman wears the mask which best suits her purpose. My mask
was my smile. I did not wish others to see through me. Sometimes, during
a sudden silence, I have caught the echo of my own laugh--that laugh in
which you, too, delighted--and hearing it I have shuddered.

No! That is not quite true. I was a different woman with you. A real,
living creature lived and breathed behind the mask. You taught me to
live. You looked into my eyes, and heard my real laughter.

How many hours we spent together, Joergen, you and I! But we did not
talk much; we never came to the exchange of ideas. I hardly remember
anything you ever said; although I often try to recall your words. How
did we pass the happy time together?

You are the only man I ever loved.

When we first got to know each other you were five-and-twenty. So
young--and I was eight years your senior. We fell in love with each
other at once.

You had no idea that I cared for you.

From that moment I was a changed woman. Not better perhaps, but quite
different. A thousand new feelings awoke in me; I saw, heard, and felt
in an entirely new way. All humanity assumed a new aspect. I, who had
hitherto been so indifferent to the weal or woe of my fellow-creatures,
began to observe and to understand them. I became sympathetic. Towards
women--not towards men. I do not understand the male sex, and this must
be my excuse for the way in which I have so often treated men. For me
there was, and is, only one man in the world: Joergen Malthe.

At first I never gave a thought to the difference in our ages. We were
both young then. But you were poor. No one, least of all myself, guessed
that you carried a field-marshal's baton in your knapsack. Money had not
brought me happiness; but poverty still seemed to me the greatest
misfortune that could befall any human being.

Then you received your first important commission, and I ventured to
dream dreams for us both. I never dreamt of fame and honour; what did I
care whether you carried out the restoration of the cathedral or not?
The pleasure I showed in your talent I did not really feel. It was not
to the man as artist, but as lover, that my heart went out.

Later, you had a brillia