could not imagine how I should bear to remain the whole evening in solitude, knowing that she was also alone and within a few minutes' walk. Dusk had already fallen, and it did not seem as if I was going to be sent for. Now I realised quite clearly that I had all the time supported myself by the hope that his presence at the Jagemanns' would also make mine necessary.
At last I began to light the lamp, in order to write to my uncle. At the same moment the bell rang.
I placed the globe of the lamp on the table—or rather on the edge of the table, and heard it crash on the floor before I reached the door, which I only just opened. As far as I could make out, I had been interrupted by a coal-heaver. Furious and desperate, I was going to bang my door, when I heard a weak childish voice exchanging some words with the servant, of which one word had a faint resemblance to my name.
I listened breathlessly. Tiny pattering steps approached, and I heard a gentle tap at the door.
Again I opened it; in front of me stood a tiny girl about seven years of age, with a tear-stained face, which I recognised; the child lived in the same house as the Jagemanns, and old Mrs. Jagemann was very interested in her and her little sisters.
"Do you want me, my little friend?"
The child looked down and snuffled.
"Have you any message, or have you brought me something?"
She now howled and rubbed her eyes with the one hand; the other she kept wrapped up in a handkerchief. I dragged her inside.
"But what is it, then? Perhaps you were to bring me a little book?"
