Chrudim, that she had been with relatives to have a complete change. To have a complete change,—these words reconciled me. . . Her hair was no longer dyed, her face no longer bore the weary signs of squandered nights,—it was as fresh in its youthfulness as a blossoming peach-spray. When the shop was closed, I accompanied her to Vinohrady, where she had a lodging. I felt that she was happy. She did not explain why she had not written, and I did not ask about it. She confided to me that a young assistant-teacher was courting her out in the country; this delighted her, and she told me about it in very great detail. Altogether on that evening there was another flood-tide of her whole nature; she arose from herself above the normal of ordinary things; there was an intensity in all her movements, glances and words, all was in a kind of superlative which allures, fetters and drags you along to admiration. But the flood-tide goes down and the normal of life is so drab and monotonous. . .
We parted in high spirits and met the next day in a matter-of-fact, sober, and prosaic mood. Again I accompanied her home. She complained of weariness, of men who molested her, and of the smell of sausages in the shop. I comforted her, but my comfort was feeble, and half-hearted, and I was glad when we reached the door of her lodging.
