I walked rapidly along: "A dream in the heart, on the lips the last kiss," as one of the German lyric poets sings. With delight I inhaled the fresh evening air; my stick sounded on the pavement, and my firm steps echoed in the empty street. A man whose boots creaked audibly kept pace with me on the opposite pavement. Only a couple of lamps lighted the whole street, and both of them were on my side; I glanced in vain at the stranger, who very likely had witnessed the tender little scene. Suddenly he crossed the road, cleared his throat, and lifted his hat. I was startled to recognise Stephensen.
"Excuse me, Mr. Fenger," he began; "perhaps it surprises you at this hour, it might have the appearance … well, why not be straightforward? I have been waiting for you."
"Indeed. Then you must have been wearing away the pavement for a considerable time."
"Just as long as you were later than usual in leaving your fiancée.… It shows that it was most important for me to meet you."
"You honour me too much. You wish?"
"I should like to have an interview with you, upon a subject which is of the greatest importance to both of us."
"All right."
"Suppose we drink a glass of beer in a place where I am known and where we can be alone?"
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