her upon the whole misery of life and upon so-called virtue which, he said, was but a word with women; then he hinted to her that she should walk upon another road. So she did. She was now living better than in that other world: her father was satisfied, the old madam loved her,—what else could she wish? Of course, she understood the motives of the madam’s love, but she accepted it gratefully, for love had, indeed, been a rare thing in her life. My hero was satisfied. With his right hand he drummed upon the table, with his left he supported his chin. They both remained silent for quite a while. Finally he arose. He pressed her hand and dryly remarked:
“It will be well, if to-day I leave you thus. . . .”
He went.
Reader, I see you looking with misgivings at the author of these lines! In fact, I am telling you of this hero, drag out hundreds
