he window, sank into the chair which stood beside
it, and with averted face and shuddering limbs motioned him away. An
inexpressible compassion took possession of him.

"Fraeulein Christiane," he said when he partially recovered from the
shock of such a meeting, "my visit is unwelcome to you; I'm sincerely
sorry, but the reasons for my intrusion are far too grave for me to
take leave of you at once, as well-bred people usually do under such
circumstances. The more quietly you listen, the sooner you'll get rid
of me. Will you listen?"

"No!" at last burst hoarsely from her scarcely-parted lips. "Go--leave
me--I've nothing to hear or say!"

"Allow me to doubt that," he answered with apparent composure. "For in
the first place you are ill. The wisest sick people don't know what's
good for them, they are in a certain sense irresponsible beings.
Whether you have anything to say to me, I do not know, but I, have a
great deal to say to you. To begin without circumlocution: I know
you're angry with me, because I prevented you from accomplishing your
purpose and turning you back on this world, which for some unknown
reason, you wished to quit. Do you know why I took this liberty? Not
from common philanthropy. I should beware of grabbing the coat tail of
the first person I might see making the leap. No, my dear Fraeulein,
what I did for you I did from common selfishness; for if you were no
longer in this world, it would lose it charms for me, like a quartette
from which the first violin was missing. Pardon the not very clever
comparison, but while your face is so ungraciously averted, I'm glad if
I can even patch my sentences together, without making any pretensions
to style." She still remained silent, with her forehead pressed against
the bare wall and her hands convulsively clasped.

"I don't know for what you have taken me so far," he continued in a
smothered voice, as he leaned, against one of the bed posts and
secretly wiped his forehead, although the room was by no means warm.
"Probably you've not had quite so bad an opinion of me, as I of myself,
since I was vain enough to put my best foot forward as far as possible.
One thing however, you do not know: as a man I may be a tolerably
useless, superfluous and ill-made individual: but as a poodle I'm
remarkable. The few persons to whom I attach myself can never shake me
off, no matter what they do, or whether I'm agreeable or disagreeable
to them. And therefore, I must in