No longer young, she was as coarsely haggard
as are the generality of women of her class, scanned by cruel daylight.
And while she could never have been numbered among the handsome ones of
her profession, there was yet a certain kindliness in the smallish blue
eyes, and in her jocose manner of treating him.

She, too, eyed him as he drank.

"SAG''MAL KLEINER--will you come again?" she broke the silence.

"What's your name?" he asked evasively, and put the cup down on the
table.

"Oh ... just ask for Luise," she said. On her tongue, the name had
three long-drawn syllables, and there was a v before the i.

She was nettled by his laugh.

"What's wrong with it?" she asked. "GEH', KLEINER, SEI NETT!--won't you
come again?"

"Perhaps."

"Well, ask for Luise, if you do. That's enough."

He turned to put on his coat. As he did so, a disagreeable thought
crossed his mind; he coloured, and ran his hand through his pockets.

"I've no money."

"What?--rooked, are you? Well, it wasn't here, then. I'm an honest
girl, I am!"

She came over to him, not exactly suspicious, still with a slight
diminution of friendliness in eyes and tone; and, as, if there were
room for a mistake on his part, herself went through the likely pockets
in turn.

"Not a heller!"

Her sharp little eyes travelled over him.

"That'd do."

She laid her hand on his scarf-pin. He took it out and gave it to her.
She stood on tip-toe, for she was dumpy, put her arms round his neck,
and gave him a hearty kiss.

"DU GEFALLST MIR!" she said. "I like you. Kiss me, too, can't you?"

He looked down on the plump, ungainly figure, and, without feeling
either satisfaction or repugnance, stooped and kissed the befringed
forehead.

"ADIEU, KLEINER! Come again."

"ADIEU, LUISE!"

He was eyed--he felt it--from various rooms, the doors of which stood
ajar. The front door was wide open, and he left it so. He descended the
stairs with a sagging step. Half-way down, he stopped short. He had
spoken the truth when he said that he was without money; every pfennig
he possessed, had been in his pocket the night before. Under these
circumstances, he could undertake nothing. But, even while he thought
it, his hand sought his watch, which he carried chainless in a pocket
of his vest. It was there, and as his fingers closed on it, he
proceeded on his way.

The day had again set in brilliantly; the shadows on roads and
pavements had real depth, and the outlines o