where Irene lived. Schnetz
had let fall a word, as if by chance, about their having taken other
rooms, because of the musical _soirees_. Where ought he look for her
window now? They light no Christmas-trees in inns; besides, it was past
midnight, and in only a few of the windows was the light still burning.

His eyes fastened themselves unconsciously upon a bright window in the
second story. The dark outline of a woman's figure was visible there
for a moment; but he could not make out whether it was she who was
peering out through the frosted window into the Christmas night. Then
the figure drew back again, but he remained.

He stood leaning against a lamp-post, insensible now to the chilling
fog and the pain of his wounds. It seemed to him as if he were already
on the shore of the New World, and between him and that bright window
the broad ocean stretched. Never had he realized so clearly that he
could never be happy without this girl, and yet he had never been so
far removed from every hope. He said to himself that he must not return
to this spot so long as he remained in the city, unless he would see
the courage which he had mustered up with so much pain broken again and
his determination shaken anew. He must forget once for all that there
was a bright window here; he swore it to himself with the full
consciousness of how hard it would be for him to keep his vow.

At this moment the light in the window went out. It made a cold shudder
pass over him, as if he had received a confirmation of his fears that
all was at an end forever. Then he roused himself, and slowly started
on the way to his lodgings.

In spite of the late hour, the streets were full of life. The Christmas
mass, which lasted from twelve to one, still kept many pious or curious
people on their feet. Felix had not gone far when he overtook two
couples, who seemed to be in even less of a hurry than himself. A
large, stout woman walked in front, hanging on the arm of a young man
who appeared to be telling her some very amusing story, for she
laughed incessantly in a deep, coarse voice, every minute turning her
head--whose thick, black hair was but loosely wound with a red
kerchief--that she might look at the second couple, as if she wondered
why they did not laugh too. The latter were not walking arm-in-arm; but
the man kept close to the girl and spoke incessantly to her in a low
voice, while she walked by his side with drooping head, as though she
did