w back, and sat down at the desk. I could only see her head.
What a singular creature!

When finished, I made at once for the door. I felt nausea already. The
waitress got up. I was afraid to go near the light--afraid to show
myself too plainly to the young girl, who never for a moment suspected
the depth of my misery; so I wished her a hasty good-night, bowed to
her, and left.

The food commenced to take effect. I suffered much from it, and could
not keep it down for any length of time. I had to empty my mouth a
little at every dark corner I came to. I struggled to master this
nausea which threatened to hollow me out anew, clenched my hands, and
tried to fight it down; stamped on the pavement, and gulped down
furiously whatever sought to come up. All in vain. I sprang at last
into a doorway, doubled up, head foremost, blinded with the water which
gushed from my eyes, and vomited once more. I was seized with
bitterness, and wept as I went along the street.... I cursed the cruel
powers, whoever they might be, that persecuted me so, consigned them to
hell's damnation and eternal torments for their petty persecution.
There was but little chivalry in fate, really little enough chivalry;
one was forced to admit that.

I went over to a man staring into a shop-window, and asked him in great
haste what, according to his opinion, should one give a man who had
been starving for a long time. It was a matter of life and death, I
said; he couldn't even keep beef down.

"I have heard say that milk is a good thing--hot milk," answered the
man, astonished. "Who is it, by the way, you are asking for?"

"Thanks, thanks," I say; "that idea of hot milk might not be half a bad
notion;" and I go.

I entered the first cafe I came to going along, and asked for some
boiled milk. I got the milk, drank it down, hot as it was, swallowed it
greedily, every drop, paid for it, and went out again. I took the road
home.

Now something singular happened. Outside my door, leaning against the
lamp-post, and right under the glare of it, stands a person of whom I
get a glimpse from a long distance--it is the lady dressed in black
again. The same black-clad lady of the other evenings. There could be
no mistake about it; she had turned up at the same spot for the fourth
time. She is standing perfectly motionless. I find this so peculiar
that I involuntarily slacken my pace. At this moment my thoughts are in
good working order, but I am much excited;