g a stranger,
who had his hands thus in her private life. When, horrified beyond
measure at the confusion that reigned in all belonging to her, Maurice
asked her how she had ever succeeded in keeping order, she told him
that, before her illness, there had, now and again, come a day of
strength and purpose, on which she had had the "courage" to face these
distasteful trifles and to end them. But she did not believe such a day
would ever come again.

Bills, bills, bills: dozens of bills, of varying dates, sent in once,
twice, three times, and invariably tossed aside and forgotten--a mode
of proceeding incomprehensible to Maurice, who had never bought
anything on credit in his life. And not because she was in want of
money: there were plenty of gold pieces jingling loose in a drawer; but
from an aversion, which was almost an inability, to take in what the
figures meant. And the amounts added up to alarming totals; Maurice had
no idea what a woman's dress cost, and could only stand amazed; but the
sum spent on fruit and flowers alone, in two months, represented to his
eyes a small fortune. Then there was the Bluthner, the unused piano;
the hire of it had not been paid since the previous summer. Three terms
were owed at Klemm's musical library, from which no music was now
borrowed; fees were still being charged against her at the
Conservatorium, where she had given no formal notice of leaving. It
really did not matter, she said, with that carelessness concerning
money, which was characteristic of her; but it went against the grain
in Maurice to let several pounds be lost for want of an effort; and he
spent a diplomatic half-hour with the secretaries in the BUREAU,
getting her released from paying the whole of the term that had now
begun. As, however, she would not appear personally, she was under the
necessity of writing a letter, stating that she had left the
Conservatorium; and when she had promised twice to do, it, and it was
still unwritten, Maurice stood over her, and dictated the words into
her pen. A day or two afterwards, he prevailed upon her to do the same
for Schwarz, to inform him of her illness, and to say that, at Easter,
if she were better, she would come to him for a course of private
lessons. This was an idea of Maurice's own, and Louise looked up at him
before putting down the words.

"It's not true. But if you think I should say so--it doesn't matter."

This was the burden of all she said: nothing matte