rom the situation.

In new surroundings, in another country, amongst people who did not
know him, he might begin life afresh, and soon grass would grow over
the short-lived sensation which his disappearance would create in this
world-forgotten little hole of a town! Within a twelvemonth his very
name perhaps would be no longer on anybody's lips in this place. And
even if in times to come this or that one of his comrades should
mention his name, it would be with the thought that such a man had
existed at some time or other, and that nobody to-day cared about him
any more.

He was so lost in his dreary thoughts that he did not observe the door
opening and giving admittance to Frau Leimann.

She looked pale and serious. Her face, so pleasant in its youthful,
placid beauty at other times, now appeared aged, and her eyes wore an
anxious expression.

Borgert did not rise, but contented himself with nodding to her,
saying never a word. His glance enveloped this woman, an intrigue with
whom had seemed to him but a short while ago an ambition worthy of his
talents.

But to-day she appeared to him no longer so desirable; her motions
seemed to him without grace or distinction, and her charms mediocre.

Her hair was arranged in negligent fashion, and the soft folds of her
morning gown to-day seemed to enwrap another woman and not the one
whose beauty had intoxicated him.

Two impressions stood out clearly in his mind: the woman as she now
faced him, and as she had appeared to him on a memorable evening.

But Frau Leimann was so preoccupied herself that the unflattering and
searching look of Borgert escaped her. She sat down on the divan
beside him and took his hand in hers. Her eyes gazed with diffidence
at the face of the man.

"You are ill, George?" asked she with anxiety.

He contented himself for all answer with a shake of his head.

"But tell me, speak to me. What ails you?"

"Why, it is nothing and it is everything," Borgert answered with
indifference.

"What do you mean by that, George? Talk sensibly, please."

"What am I to say? I am done with the whole business. That is all."

"Done! Done with what? How am I to understand you?"

"Done with everything,--with life and with myself."

"You talk like a sphinx, George. Why not tell me frankly what has
happened to you?"

"My money is gone. I'll have to run away, or else there will be the
deuce to pay."

Borgert felt a tremor run through her body. She did