which we had to escape. But why do I tire you with these reminiscences?"
"Surely you are telling me this because you know that it does not tire me at all, and that at the present moment nothing has more interest for me. I am very grateful to you. I have had a happy childhood myself, and can possibly, for that reason, sympathise with you all the more fully in what you have missed. But you will have to make up for it by enjoying the brighter side of life, and I am sure you will not miss the opportunity."
Minna did not answer, but examined carefully a new heap of pebbles which she had scraped together.
"You spoke of a brother. I have never heard him mentioned before. Has he, perhaps, left Dresden?"
"He died two years ago."
"Poor you, to have had that sorrow also. It must have been a very bitter one."
Minna shook her head.
"No, I did not care much for him. While only a boy he was not kind to me, and made my childhood still worse; and later on, when he was grown up—well, I suppose he was eager 'to make up for what he had missed of the lighter side of life.' I am afraid he would never have given us anything but sorrow."
She looked at me with a defiant expression as much as to say, "I can quite imagine that you think me hardhearted. Well, do as you like! Should I love him only because he was my brother, when he did not otherwise deserve it?… For the rest, do not imagine that I am so good and kind."
"Were there no other relations who might have helped you?" I asked, in order to change the painful subject.
