Lilly began to ail. She suffered from headaches, heart-burn, lassitude, insomnia and occasional attacks of vertigo.

The physician, called in at Mr. Dehnicke's insistence, was one of those extremely busy men who make the rounds of numberless houses a day. First he took a good look at the apartment—a setting he seemed to know—then, upon a cursory examination, prescribed social distractions, walks, and iron, much iron.

Social distractions had to be dispensed with; there was no opportunity for them. Taking walks was not so easy either. Lilly did not care to stroll about alone, and Mr. Dehnicke, the only person to accompany her, preferred not to be seen on the street with her too frequently. In order, he said, not to compromise her, though in all likelihood the truth was, he feared becoming conspicuous by appearing in public with that exotic, flowerlike beauty.

For no matter what happened, no matter that trouble, want and all sorts of humiliations swept over her, no matter that boredom and displeasure with herself crushed her spirits, Lilly's appearance never lost thereby.

On the contrary, the delicate milky whiteness of her cheeks, which before had been a golden brown, lent her a new, soft charm. The great, narrow, long-lashed eyes with the heavily drooping lids—those improbable Lilly eyes—now had a weary, languishing brilliance, as if they veiled all the painful riddles of the universe. Moreover, the last year had given back to her the slim, regal figure of her maiden days and taken away the womanly peacefulness it had acquired at Lischnitz. No wonder that many a head turned after her and many an appreciative, envious glance was sent askance at her companion, who was considerably shorter than she.

Mr. Dehnicke was aware of all this, and being a staid, respectable business man, and not wishing to be the object of gossip, he preferred to stay indoors with her.

About the middle of February she received an invitation by mail from Mr. Kellermann, whom she had not seen for several months.

GREAT CARNIVAL
KELLERMANN STUDIO
Magic Lantern Show, Flirtation, Opportunity for Crimes
Passionels, Cream Kisses, and other Attractions

That seemed like distraction enough, and Mr. Dehnicke, who, it happened, had also been invited, was so energetic in his persuasions that he finally conquered her timidity and induced her to go.

But when the day for the carnival came Lilly was seized by a great dread of it, and at the last moment felt like withdrawing from her engagement.

She saw herself running the gauntlet of a gaping crowd of sardonic sneerers, who whispered the story of her rise and fall behind her back. She saw herself neglected and avoided, the object of derisive side glances. She passed through all the tortures of the dÉclassÉes, who must drag through life with the mark of the sinner caught in the act branded on their brows.

She chose the most beautiful of her Dresden dresses, which in the two years had grown to be the very height of fashion. It was a white Empire gown embroidered with gold vines. She arranged a narrow bracelet in her hair like a diadem, and loosely laid over her head an oriental veil shot with threads of gold. In case of need it would serve to conceal the bareness of her bosom. When she had completed her toilet, she seemed to herself so repulsive and conspicuous that this alone was sufficient ground for not showing herself.

She did not venture to cherish a faint hope until her friend came to fetch her. He saw her, and held on to the door knob, uttering a slight cry of astonishment.

"Am I all right?" she asked with a diffident laugh, which entreated encouragement.

Instead of replying he ran up and down the room breathing heavily and choking over inarticulate words—a mute language which Lilly immediately understood.

While sitting beside him in the coupÉ, she succumbed to another attack of dread.

"You will stay right next to me, won't you?" she implored. "You won't leave me, and you won't let a stranger speak to me, will you?"

He promised all she wanted.

Four flights up—a way she well knew.

The landing outside Mr. Kellermann's door was filled with clothes-racks, on which awe-inspiring furs and humiliating lace mantles hung.

She clung to his arm.

Now to her ruin!

The large anteroom, into which not a single ray of light penetrated in the daytime, and which Mr. Kellermann used as a kitchen, bedroom and dining-room, had been converted into a sort of fairy forest. Vari-coloured Chinese lanterns swung on the branches of pine trees, and in their dim red glow several couples sat smiling and whispering on narrow bamboo benches. They were so absorbed in themselves that they paid little heed to the new arrivals.

All the more animated was Lilly's reception in the studio, which was filled with a bright, glittering mass of humanity. A general "ah," then absolute silence. A passageway naturally formed itself, down which the couple seemed to be expected to pass. Lilly made a gesture, as if to hide behind her friend. But he reached only up to her nose.

At the same instant Mr. Kellermann came hurrying up to them. He wore a brown velvet costume consisting of a jacket, knee-length breeches, and a Phrygian cap. Everybody, in fact, wore what seemed to him original and becoming.

"Welcome, goddess, queen!" he cried in a voice for the entire company to hear; and since nothing better occurred to him, he pressed kisses on her gloved arm from wrist to elbow.

Then he begged to be allowed to show her the incomparable arrangements of his new court of love. She followed him, whispering to her friend to be sure to remain at her side.

Electric lights had been hung in the open air directly over the skylight, converting it into a many-coloured, starry heaven. On looking up one really thought a thousand little suns were shining down from out of the night.

Rugs and ivy vines divided the left side, where the gable roof sloped downward, into a number of small arbours, the entrance of each of which was hung with gaily coloured bead portiÈres. And over each hung a great printed placard bearing a highly suggestive inscription.

The first was called "Arbour of Lax Morality." Lilly turned a startled look upon her guide, who observed with a smile:

"That's only the beginning, meant for bread-and-butter-misses and little afternoon-tea-souls like you." And added:

while he pointed to the second entrance, the inscription over which read: "Arbour of Wicked Vows."

"Oh, dreadful!" she cried in righteous dismay. Kellermann rolled with laughter.

She could not help reading the next two signs, "Arbour of the Right to Motherhood" and "Arbour of the Cry for Man," but she said nothing more.

There were two more divisions, a "Powder Room" and an "Arbour of Perversity." This she did not understand.

"Now we'll go to the Criminal Side," said Mr. Kellermann, and led her diagonally across the room, making way for her among the people, who at her approach began to nod and hum and buzz, but with no trace of malice or contempt. The very reverse. It was an ovation, a suppressed demonstration of her triumph.

Her breast expanded. A faint, humble sensation of happiness stole over her body like hot wine. She threw back her scarf. She no longer needed to feel ashamed of her bare throat and shoulders. In the looks turned upon her she read that no one would scoff at her.

She did not succeed in reaching the Criminal Side. So many gentlemen wanted to be presented to her that Mr. Kellermann had all he could do telling off their names.

From now on the carnival became something absolutely unreal, a dream land, a fairy meadow, on which strange, large-eyed flowers were blooming and sweet scents set heads a-reeling, and a haze sparkled with red suns; where people laughed and jested and whispered, where bold, unheard-of compliments floated in the air, and everything existed for Lilly to caress and admire and love.

Yes, she loved them all, the men and the women, as soon as she met them. They were all good, noble souls, scintillating with delightful conceits and ready to perform friendly services. Each awakened a new hope, each brought a new joy.

She felt how her cheeks glowed, what blissful intoxication was burning in her eyes. And he at whom she looked with those eyes would quiver, and respond with a gleam from his own, which seemed to be the reflection of her happiness.

That was no longer another strange Lilly, who laughed and returned jest with jest and went from arm to arm with a faint pang of regret. That was she herself, doubly, triply herself.

Sometimes, when a gentleman became too bold in his talk, when an unlicenced double entendre seemed to lurk behind a joke, and Lilly became nervous and did not know what to say and involuntarily looked around for help, she always found her friend somewhere near at hand, glancing over at her as if by mere chance.

That gave her a delicious sense of peace, a consciousness of being cared for and hidden away, so that she could be even merrier than before, and need not take offence at audacities.

Once she overheard behind her:

"Who's the lucky dog who has her for his mistress?"

The answer was:

"A little polished Mr. Snooks. There he stands."

This made her stop and think a moment, though she could not know to whom it referred. But in the whirl of incidents it soon passed from her mind.

Oh, what people she met!

There were young blades in dress suits and white flowered waistcoats, who paid her mad court, and asked, as if casually, though their eagerness was visible under the nonchalance of their exterior: "What is your day at home?"

Alas, she had no day at home. She lived a very retired life.

There were sombre philosophers, who agonised over the world's pain, wore very long hair and monstrous neckties. They spoke to Lilly of "spiritual high pressure" and the "specific gravity of related individualities," themes which did Lilly's soul good. One of them kept addressing her as "Your Excellency." When she asked him why, he looked staggered and said he had heard she was—then he broke off and substituted the paltry joke that she so "excelled" all the women present he could find no more suitable title.

One of the men was an exuberant old high liver, whose name she had read with awe on many a beautiful picture. She would rather have kissed the hem of his garment than see him dance about her comically trying to be youthful.

There were many others who aroused her curiosity; but she could learn nothing of their rank or character.

The company even boasted a real prince, a pale, blond, very young man, who did not venture to ask to be introduced to Lilly, because his love was always in threatening proximity. So he kept making dÉtours about her.

The women, of course, were more distant than the men, though those of them who came to make her acquaintance gave themselves up to her with effusive warmth.

One was a beautiful, voluptuous brunette with unsteady, glowing eyes and a smile betokening wild abandon.

"We must get to know each other," she said. "I will introduce you to my friend, and later we'll take supper together like a cosy little family."

Another was an extremely slim young woman with bright blue eyes, who towered above most of the men. She wandered through the throng serene and unconcerned in a long, white silk secession robe, looking like a phantom. She spoke without moving her head and smiled without drawing her lips. She had come from Denmark to study painting and at the same time "live life," as she expressed it.

"Who are you?" she asked Lilly. "You are different from the rest. The woman who comes here and does not want to be swept along in the current must have strong arms."

She boldly threw back the wide sleeves of her gown as far as her shoulders and exposed two lily-white, wonderfully curved arms, gleaming like marble pillars.

Thereupon she wandered further.

The third was an extremely light-haired, very elegant woman, no longer young. Her pretty, good-humoured face was tanned by the open air. With a merry flash of her eyes she held out her hand to Lilly, as if they were old acquaintances.

"Oh, how sweet and lovely you are!" she said softly. "We have all flown here and don't know how. But where do you come from? My name is ——" she mentioned the name of a great musician who in Kilian Czepanek's home had been revered as semi-divine.

"Yes, Welter's former wife—that's who I am," she added gaily, and turned to the gentleman on whose arm she had walked up to Lilly.

"Another general's wife, like myself," thought Lilly, looking after her.

There were some married couples, too; for the most part extremely young and extravagantly clad, who at first kept together timidly and looked about with great, astonished eyes, and later frolicked about like monkeys set at liberty. One couple seemed to have been dragged to the carnival as a practical joke. The husband was a genuine complacent beery German, the wife, a good, corpulent, black-silk creature. The man, Lilly was told, was the landlord of the house, a well-to-do baker, who had been invited to the carnival as a reward for good-naturedly having permitted his fourth floor to be turned topsy-turvey. But the couple by no means felt nervous or out of place. They made coarse, clumsy jokes, and were always surrounded by a group of laughing auditors.

About ten o'clock—Lilly had just been entangled by one of the long-haired and linenless in a profound discussion of false human values—when all of a sudden a sort of cry of wrath was raised, issuing at first from only one or two throats, then swelling to a loud thunder. Lilly distinguished the words "hunger" and "fodder."

Mr. Kellermann's pacifying voice resounded to still the clamour. An accident, he said, had occurred to interrupt the spreading of the bread of which each guest would receive a piece—a poor devil of an artist couldn't afford a more abundant repast. He had hurriedly sent across the street for what was missing, and would the gentlemen please content themselves until it arrived? As for those who were very hungry and did not worry about the taking of human life, the hosts had provided arsenic sandwiches and strychnine tarts, which were to be found in the closet marked "Poisons."

The whole assemblage made a dash for the Criminal Side, where for the sake of the crimes passionels a whole arsenal of deadly instruments had been prepared. Gallows dangled from the ceiling, ladders led down to abysses, and a cannon was discharged. The company immediately snatched the poisonous sandwiches from the sideboard, and sometimes even absolute strangers offered one another "a bite," like school children.

Then came the regular supper.

A buffet had been set up among the pines in the anteroom, piled mountain high with all sorts of goodies, Yorkshire hams, cold game, lobster, sliced salmon, and heaven knows what else. So stormy was the onslaught on that buffet—which, providentially had been placed against a wall—that the forest of pines gave way. Twigs flew about, branches broke, and a mass of laughing, cursing creatures rolled among the overturned tree-boxes.

Somebody had a brilliant idea—chuck the whole forest down stairs. Forthwith the Chinese lanterns were extinguished, and despite the protestations of the landlord, who feared for the sleep of his other tenants, tree after tree went crashing down the steps and piled up at the bottom.

The ladies' light dresses were completely strewn with pine needles, pine needles settled in their hair and on their bosoms. The whole place smelled of Christmas.

One could hardly enjoy eating for all the laughing.

Besides, there were not enough chairs and tables for everybody. So, to be able at least to balance the plate on their laps, they sat crowded close up against one another on the stairs, where the company was fed from above downward each time fresh provisions were procured from the buffet and brought out into the hall.

Some enterprising pioneers even climbed up on the heap of pine trees and swayed on the springy branches like birds. Benevolent souls on the upper landing handed them their food on forks tied to walking sticks.

Lilly, fairly sick with laughter, sat on one of the steps quite surrounded by strange gentlemen, all of whom wanted to be fed by her. She was in such a state of beatitude that she wished her life might end with the carnival. If she had any care in the world, it was to see to it that the gentlemen about her got enough to eat.

The last of the refreshments were the cream kisses promised on the invitation. They swung on long strings from the ceiling, and each guest had to snap like a dog for his portion. If anyone used his hands he was rapped over the knuckles.

This sport, which at first created fresh storms of folly, soon had to be relinquished because the cream dropped on the ladies' dresses. Lilly's Empire gown was also stained, but the instant the cream fell on it one of the gentlemen kneeled and sucked the spot away.

When a trumpet blast summoned the company back to the studio, everybody was unhappy, Lilly in especial.

But when she saw her friend again, whom she had quite forgotten, she quickly took comfort. Pressing against his arm and beaming with delight she reported to him amid gurgles of laughter all she had experienced in the meantime.

Now, it seemed to her, she again saw the looks of those who passed her fastened on her face in strange seriousness, betokening something like compassion. But she had too much to relate to give those strange looks much thought.

The speeches now began. Lilly begged her friend to stay at her side. She had romped enough, she said, and needed something "homey."

He pressed his arm against hers gratefully.

"Why are you trembling so?" she asked in surprise.

"Oh, nothing," he replied lightly.

The first of the speakers was one of the long-haired, linenless, sombre ones. Something weighty and solemn, like a hymn, was to usher in the numbers on the program.

He recited an ode entitled "Super-Smoke," in which such words as "sublime mist" rhymed with "amethyst," and "super-desire" with "passionate fire."

Lilly understood not a word, though the poem must have been very beautiful, because at the conclusion the gentlemen burst into wild applause. "Bravo! Bravo! Super-smoke! More Super-smoke!"

The sombre poet, who naturally interpreted these exclamations as a call for "da capo," bowed and felt flattered and started off again: "Super-Smoke, an Ode."

He found he was in for it. "Enough, enough," came from all sides, and it turned out that the gentlemen had merely wished to express their desire for something smokeable in the language of super-men.

The next to ascend the platform was a slim, very elegant gentleman with a dark brown Van Dyke beard and a gleaming monocle. He had been introduced to Lilly. Dr. Salmoni smiled sadly, and held his curved left hand close to his nose to scrutinise his long nails. His intention, he said was to draw up an intellectual inventory of the evening. For the purpose he would make a few remarks as a basis of his "so-to-speak destructive construction of this social heterogeneity."

With that, a hail-storm of audacities and personalities came rattling down on the heads of hosts and guests.

Though Lilly understood only a fraction of what he said, she felt she had to blush with shame for each person his ill-natured words hit. But, strange to say, nobody took offence. On the contrary, each one upon getting his raking tried to outdo the others in noisy applause.

"What a happy world," thought Lilly, "where people have become absolutely invulnerable and the most heinous sins simply add to their honour."

Her own misdeed, from which she had suffered so long as from a festering sore, suddenly appeared something like a child's amiable prank.

"Was it idiocy in me to grieve so?" she asked herself, and pushed her hips downward with her hands, as if to brush away all the old chains from her limbs.

The elegant doctor could deal in compliments also. Each of the lovely women received her little bon-bon rolled in pepper. And when he spoke of a lotos flower that had drifted there from fairyland and still seemed to dread the glory of the new sun shining upon it, Lilly again saw all glances turned upon her.

"But let her take courage," Dr. Salmoni continued. "Should she need some one to help her dreamily await the night, she may count, I feel certain, upon every one of us."

He was rewarded with the enthusiastic applause of all the gentlemen, and Lilly did not even feel ashamed.

Upon concluding, and after gathering in a harvest of praise from the auditors, who crowded up to him—those who had gotten the hottest "roast" were the most eager—he stepped to Lilly's side and said sotto voce:

"I beg your pardon most humbly for having mentioned you in the same breath as this set. People on our level ought to have a tacit code; they ought to understand each other without making bald declarations. But I was tired of just cracking a whip. Besides, I may assure you, I don't always play the fool."

He stuck his monocle in his waistcoat pocket and looked at Lilly with his sharp grey eyes as if to tear her heart to tatters.

"People on our level," he had said. Lilly felt flattered that so clever and prominent a man should rank her with him.

The next performer was a "minstrel," a mercurial, black young fellow, who accompanied himself on the mandolin. He struck up a highly sentimental ditty, like a troubadour's.

The second strophe, the temperature of which rose many degrees, ended with the line:

And the third strophe, whose outrageous explicitness Lilly scarcely ventured to understand, wound up with the French:

An endless round of clapping and shouting followed the song.

Lilly was astonished, but did not resent it. She resented nothing any more. Leaning back in her chair with half-closed eyes, she let the lights, the sounds, the vulgarities, the laughter and applause pass as in a dream.

From time to time she looked around at her friend.

He stood behind her, and smiled reassuringly, but said nothing. A mottled red burned on his forehead, and his eyes were bloodshot. Perhaps he had drunk too much champagne. As for herself, though she had taken only a sip, her head was spinning dizzily.

At two o'clock the speech-making ended. Now the final restraints were thrust aside. The company romped madly, danced, kissed, drank, quarrelled, and fought duels. Lovers stabbed themselves and were carried out dead. The cannon shot off crackers. A thin, droll youngster clad in a Greek gown, which an obliging model had lent him, stood in front of the "Arbour of the Right to Motherhood," and held forth in a singing falsetto. Science had shown, he said, by the results of artificial fish culture that man as a factor in reproduction would soon be unnecessary. At the entrance to the "Arbour of the Cry for Man" a small, wild person with curly black hair had climbed on a chair and kept screaming "A woman! A woman! A woman!" Into the "Arbour of Perversity" they had pushed the baker and his corpulent better half, and each time the two kissed on command a shout of laughter went up outside.

Lilly's head was a-whirl with the tumult. Everything turned in a circle, screeching, darting, hammering, like a series of painful flashes.

"We'd better be going," Mr. Dehnicke's voice behind her advised.

She arose and stretched her arms with a shiver.

That had been life! Life! Life!

Then she followed him.

Mr. Kellermann had noticed her leave, and furtively slipped up to her in the hall. His open collar hung over his jacket, his cheeks were puffed and shiny. He looked like a young Falstaff.

He exchanged glances with Dehnicke, who nodded slightly, as if to say, "It was all right," and went off in search of their wraps.

The instant Mr. Dehnicke was lost among the overcoats, Mr. Kellermann turned to Lilly and whispered:

"The chained beauty, have you forgotten her entirely?"

"Entirely," she replied with a languid smile.

"You'll never come?"

"Never."

"And I tell you"—he led her to one side next to the banisters—"I tell you, you will come. When your own chains have cut into your flesh, and you won't know—"

Mr. Dehnicke returned with the wraps, and Mr. Kellermann became silent.

Lilly was keyed up to too blissful a pitch to attach any significance to these strange words, which sounded like a joke in the mouth of the bacchic faun.

She laughed at him.

The lightning flashes that had darted through her brain died down. Leaning lightly against her friend's shoulder she walked airily down the steps singing and swaying her hips.

The whole world seemed to have passed into a soft, perfumed, chiming twilight. Snow had fallen, and the moon was shining.

Dehnicke's carriage was waiting.

"Let us drive to the Tiergarten," Lilly suggested. She could not draw in her fill of the invigorating, snowy air.

She threw herself against the cushioned back of the brougham, and sang and beat time with her feet.

He sat in his corner quite still, looking out into the night.

"Do say something," she cried.

"What shall I say?" he rejoined, and sedulously looked past her with his bleared eyes.

They rolled silently along under the trees, from which every now and then a little silver star was brushed into the carriage.

Lilly sank into a drowsy state.

"Oh," she whispered, seeking a prop for her head, "I could ride on this way forever."

Then, suddenly, it seemed to her that Walter's arm was clasping her waist, and her left cheek was nestling comfortably against Walter's neck, as once on blessed November nights.

But—where did Walter come from all of a sudden?

She started up and sank back, wide awake.

No, that was not Walter. Now she knew exactly who it was. But her great shame kept her from changing her position, and for a while she lay with her eyes wide open listening to his heart. It throbbed even in his upper arm.

"And he will not ask the price which it is the custom in our country to demand of beautiful women," was what Walter had written.

He was demanding it after all.

How contemptuously Walter would look down on her when she would turn on the lights in her drawing-room half an hour later—Walter, whom everybody, including the man into whose arms she had glided, considered to be her betrothed; Walter, to whom she must be true as long as there was salvation for her on earth.

To be sure, it was heavenly to be lying there that way. She felt she had a place in the universe. And how horrible that loneliness had been! But now it availed nothing.

Cautiously, as if fearing to hurt him, she withdrew from his arm and pressed against the other side of the brougham.

"Why didn't you stay?" he asked, stammering like a drunkard. "Weren't you comfortable?"

She shook her head.

He repeated the question several times. She maintained silence. She felt any word she might utter would entangle her still further.

Then he clasped her hand, which hung down limply.

"I mayn't," she whispered, extracting her hand from his. "And you mayn't, either."

"Why mayn't we?"

"You will reproach yourself dreadfully later when you recall you are responsible to him."

"Whom?" he asked.

"Whom? Him. Whom else? You always say you're nothing but his agent, and—"

A laugh, a hoarse, guilty laugh, interrupted her. He had folded his hands across his knees, and he laughed and drew a deep breath and laughed again, as one who has rid himself of a wearisome burden.

A horrid certainty faced her.

"Then all that wasn't true?" she faltered, staring at him.

"Nonsense, perfect nonsense," he cried. "He wrote me once, before he left for the United States. 'Look out for her. Don't let her go to the dogs. She's too good for them.' Nothing else and never again. There! Now you know it. Now I'm rid of it. I've had a hard enough time over it. But what could I do? I had begun so I had to go on. There was no use—"

He jerked up the window and leaned against it panting.

Lilly wanted to ask, "Why did you do it?" but was afraid to. She knew what was coming. One thing stood before her with horrible clearness: she was in his hands beyond rescue. She lived in his house, spent his money, saw the world with his eyes. She was what he had determined she should be: his courtesan, his creature.

The river!

She tore at the brougham door, and set her right foot on the step, but he pulled her back and shut the door again.

"Be sensible," he commanded. "Keep your wits about you."

She burst into a fit of weeping, piteous, harrowing, heartbreaking. She had not shed such tears since the days of her divorce. She saw nothing and heard nothing. Sometimes she seemed to catch the sound of his voice as from a great, great distance. But she did not understand what he said. Simply to cry, cry, cry, as if salvation lay in crying, as if fear and distress would flow away with her tears.

The brougham came to a stand. She felt herself being lifted out. He carried the key in his pocket.

Supported by him she stumbled up the steps and thought from time to time:

"Why, I was going to throw myself into the river."

He led her to the sofa and turned on the lights of the chandelier. Then he undid the buckle of her cloak and removed the veil from her hair.

She lay there languidly, looking apathetically at the tablecloth.

The bird awoke and peeped to her.

"It's late," she heard Mr. Dehnicke say, "and the carriage is waiting. But I can't leave you this way. I must vindicate myself. I want you to know how everything happened."

"It makes no difference," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"To me it does," he rejoined. "I don't want you to think I'm a rascal."

"That makes no difference either," she thought.

"I loved you," he began, "long before I knew you, when you were still our colonel's wife."

She looked up at him in surprise.

As he stood there in his short, close-fitting dress suit, with a pale, joyless, pleading face, uneasily plucking at the tablecloth, he who was really master there, it seemed to her she was looking upon him for the first time.

"I had been called into service for the manoeuvres that summer," he continued, "and the club was still full of you. Even the ladies of the regiment talked of nothing else. There were ever so many pictures of you, too, in circulation. Some of the men had snapped you on the sly. The instant I saw you I should have recognised you, because I remembered every feature. Yes, I may repeat with perfect truth, I loved you even then. What's more, after Prell's letter came and you were to step into my life, good Lord! what plans for winning you didn't I work out in those one and a half years! Then at last you appeared and exceeded my wildest fancies. But when I saw that in between you had become a grande dame, and how devoted you were to Walter—you kept talking of him—I lost my last hopes. Of course, I had never seriously counted upon winning you, because, though I lay some stock in myself, I'm not really self-assured—and besides—to have some one like you for a love—that's more happiness than anyone can dream of."

When he said "a love," passionate bitterness welled up within Lilly.

"To have me for a wife," she thought, "that is certainty more happiness than anyone can dream of."

She burst out laughing.

He took her laugh as a sign of modest deprecation of his compliment, and talked himself into greater enthusiasm. Did she think a single person in all that company to-night was worthy of unlacing her shoe-ties? Did she realise how immeasurably she was raised above everything bearing the name woman?

From out of her tear-stained eyes the question now candidly shone which pride and shame forbade her to utter.

He must have understood, because he paused suddenly, clapped his hand to his forehead, looked agitated, and paced up and down the room, suppressing sobs. She heard him murmur, "I can't—impossible—I can't."

"Oh—if he can't," she thought, and stared at him with her cheeks pressed between her hands.

He halted in front of her, and tried to talk. But he could only choke down half-articulated words, and he took to pacing the room again.

Lilly caught snatches of words—"mother"—"never persuade her"—"must give up the business." And again and again, "I can't—impossible—I can't."

"He's right," she thought. "A person like me—he really can't." And feeling her renunciation was final she drew a deep breath, and collapsed.

He hastened to her, frightened; leaned over her, and wanted to stroke her hands. But she shook him off. Since he could not find a word in justification of his weak evasion, he took up the thread where Lilly's tortured laugh had cut it off.

"Remember one thing, dearest, dearest friend. I don't want anything for myself—no reward—nothing. Long ago I gave up all wishes for myself, I swear to you. The only thing I wanted was to draw you out of the hole where you were being degraded into a proletarian. Oh, I know it from experience. It lasts a few years—no more. They either go on the street, or they grow more careworn and uglier and uglier. Soon you'd never suspect what they once were. To keep the same thing from happening to you, I thought of that device of the check, and wrote to my American agents. When I saw you were completely taken in, I didn't sleep for several nights out of pure joy, because then I knew I shouldn't have to stand by and see you go to your ruin."

"Why should I go to ruin?" Lilly interjected. "By the time your check came I had already earned a decent little sum. You yourself helped me, and you yourself said, if I continued the same way—"

She stopped short in fright at the thought that if she had to separate from him, this one avenue would be cut off, too. The idea was a nightmare.

No word of encouragement came from him. He kept plucking at the tablecloth in dogged reserve.

"Say something! Have you already forgotten everything you did for me?"

He raised his head.

"Well," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "if you insist. At any rate, it may be well to be perfectly frank this evening."

"Why, what else is there?" Lilly cried.

"Do you remember when you visited the factory, I wouldn't let you into the storeroom?"

"Certainly. But what—"

"And afterwards I said it was because the room wasn't heated?"

"Yes—but I can't see what that has to do with my work."

"If you had gone the least little bit further, you would have seen every one of your transparencies, fifty-six in all. The last were still unwrapped."

Lilly looked up at him as to her executioner. Then she fell down before the sofa. She had no more tears to shed, but the soft darkness of the cushions was soothing to her eyes. To see nothing more, to hear nothing more, to think nothing more. To die quickly, forthwith, before hunger came, and shame.

A long silence followed.

She thought he had already gone when she felt his hand stroking her shoulder and heard his voice with a mournful quiver in it pleading:

"My dear, dear friend, tell me, tell me, what could I do? Could I rob you of your one pleasure, your one assurance? Was I to say to you, 'It's amateurish, unsalable?' I saw your whole soul was wrapped up in it, and you lived from it spiritually, as it were. I thought: 'When her affairs are all smoothed out, I'll just let it die a natural death.' And you know it was in a fair way to die naturally. You hardly thought of it the last month. Dearest, dearest friend, do reflect, what wrong did I do? I helped you out of wretched surroundings, I gave you a few months of joy and freedom from care, and I didn't even ask for so much as a kiss. If you want, return to your Mrs. Laue to-morrow, and it will be as if nothing happened. Or remain here quite calmly until you have found a position. I won't thrust myself on you. You needn't see me. When I—leave here—now—"

He could not continue.

After a period of silence Lilly raised her head in fright and curiosity to see what had become of him. She found him in a chair inclined over the table, his head hidden in his arms, and his back shaken with mute sobs.

She stood next to him a while, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

She was so sorry for him—oh, how sorry she was for him!

Then she gently laid her hand on his hair.

"Take comfort, dear friend," she said. "It will be much worse for me than for you. I won't have anybody at all."

And she shuddered, thinking of her approaching loneliness.

He straightened himself up and silently reached for his hat. His eyes were even more bleared than before; his head inclined still further to the left.

Oh, how sorry she was for him!

"Good-by," he said, pressing her right hand. "And thank you."

"I will write to you," she said. "I should like to think it all over to-night. I shall probably move to-morrow, immediately."

"Whatever you wish," he said.

As he was drawing on his overcoat something long and cylindrical gleaming with gold and silver fell noiselessly from his pocket to the floor.

Lilly picked it up. It was a huge cracker.

Both had to smile.

"That lovely carnival had to have this sad ending," she said.

He sighed.

"Did you enjoy yourself? I hope for that at least."

"Oh, what's the difference so far as I'm concerned?" said Lilly, deprecatingly.

"A great difference. The whole affair was gotten up for you."

"How—for me?"

"Well, do you suppose Mr. Kellermann, who at the very best earns fifty to a hundred marks a week, can afford such an entertainment? The physician ordered diversion, and on account of the position you are in, I couldn't offer you any, so I hid behind him, and—"

She opened her eyes wide.

If he loved her to that extent!

"You dear, dear friend," she said, and for one instant lightly leaned her head against his shoulder.

He threw his arms about her quickly, greedily, as if she would be snatched from him the next instant. His whole body quivered, and she felt his warm tears on her forehead.

Since he did not venture to kiss her even yet, she offered him her lips.

"The third," she thought.

When she glanced up, she saw Walter's eyes on the wall looking down at her with a base, sneering smile. Just as she had feared in the carriage.

Terrified, she drew Mr. Dehnicke's attention to the portrait.

"We'd better have it sent right down to the basement to-morrow," he said.

And since they now had very much to say to each other, the carriage was immediately dismissed, because it was half past three, and the coachman and the horses needed a rest.