3 Books To Know Nobel Prize in Literature - Paul Heyse 3 books to know

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the crime she has committed is now discovered, and she wants to get away that she may not be caught napping. But then—she looked so haughty and composed, and did not address a single word to me more than was absolutely necessary, and yet I'm the landlady. As she went away in the midst of the quarter, it was fair, she said, that she should pay for the full three months—though she'd not been here quite four weeks—and counted out thirty-six thalers on the table. I could consider it so much profit. For everything else—though, dear me, she'd given me no trouble at all—she laid three louis d'ors on the table, and the maid too had her full quarter's wages and a handsome present. Then she went to the birds—the parrot belonged to the count—opened the door of the cage, fed them, and said: 'You'll let them go free,' and with a flashing glance and a nod of the head went down stairs to the droschky Jean had been sent to fetch, and on which her trunk was already strapped. She took the boy with her, but to what depot she ordered the man to drive—neither I nor the maid could hear. Mercy, what will the count say when he comes back, for I promised I would keep her for him, and he said 'you shall not lose by it, Madame Sturgmüller.' His servant was here yesterday, 'How had the young lady behaved?' he asked. 'Who was that gentleman with her'—he meant you. Well, I said no more than I knew—that you only came to dine and always seemed very quiet and brought her books. Then he laughed. 'They're probably studying something very beautiful, Madame, and if I tell my master, the count—' 'Well,' said I, 'why does he leave her all alone? Such a young thing—idleness is the beginning of all love affairs.' But he shook his head and wanted to know nothing about it. Now, tell me, my dear sir, what does all this mean? Merciful God, if I should be obliged to go before a jury after all—"

      Edwin, in spite of his sadness, could not help smiling. He denied all knowledge of Toinette's movements, and his evident alarm at not finding her, proved his sincerity. He had never inquired into her circumstances, and where she had so suddenly vanished was as incomprehensible to him as to the landlady. He walked, the woman constantly talking to him, through all the pleasant rooms that suddenly seemed so desolate and lifeless, and for the first time entered the sleeping apartment, where the traces of a hasty departure were still visible. On the toilette table, among various empty boxes, stood a small bottle in which there was still a little essence of violet, a perfume of which she had been particularly fond. He took advantage of a moment when he was unobserved, to appropriate the useless relic. With what strange emotions he stood beside the bed and gazed at the snow white pillows on which her head had rested. "She was a beautiful girl," said the woman. "Even the most envious must admit that, and no princess could be more stately. But mark my words, sir: one of these days her name will appear in the papers, not on the first page where the arrivals and departures of the aristocracy are announced, but among the miscellaneous news, accidents and sentences of imprisonment for ten years or for life. Why shouldn't she have waited for the count, who's such a charming gentleman? If a girl has a good conscience, she doesn't try to be peculiar, but is neither better nor worse than other mortals. Believe me, I know the world, and haven't rented rooms for ten years to the very best class of lodgers for nothing."

      A feeling of inexpressible loathing overpowered Edwin. He hastily turned away, promising to call again some other time, and left the house, in the deepest melancholy.

      CHAPTER VII.

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      She had not left a line for him, not even a note to say farewell; it was too much kindness to say: 'I'm going for such and such reasons, to such and such a place.' He was of so little importance to her, she was so utterly indifferent to what he must feel at her sudden disappearance. No nomad who strikes his tent, leaves his camping ground without casting a glance toward the fire where he prepared his meals, the spring that refreshed him, although he knows he shall find the same friendly elements everywhere. And he, whom she had called "friend";—what a horribly cold heart, that can prize the best treasures so lightly, leave the most unselfish devotion in the lurch so carelessly, like a bottle of perfume, which was pleasant to the senses, but which can be bought in any shop.

      And on a creature of such a shallow mind, such an icy heart, he had for weeks lavished his thoughts and opinions; nay his very anguish when he had determined to break loose from her bonds, told him only too distinctly that it would be long ere the task could be accomplished. The more violently he strove to accuse her, the more victoriously the image of his upbraided friend, with her artless expression and the last earnest gaze the dark eyes had fixed upon him, rose before his fancy, and he at last perceived that he only reproached her in order to have a pretext for constantly occupying himself with her. He at last concluded a sort of truce with his passionate grief. It was still possible that she might write as soon as she was settled again. Had she not one of his books, Hafiz, from which he had last read aloud to her at table? To be sure, she might think he had given it to her, like the little copy of Hermann and Dorothea. And if not, why should the possession of a borrowed book disturb her, when she was in the habit of not even returning hearts into which she had glanced once or twice?

      For the first time, he failed to tell Balder all that was occupying his thoughts, and merely said that she had given up her rooms, but would probably send him her new address.

      This intelligence did not seem to trouble Balder much. He avoided saying so, but in his heart he almost wished that this might be the end of the adventure, for from what Edwin had said of the lady, it seemed more and more doubtful whether this passion, which made the grave, self-contained man so helpless, would ever compensate for the sacrifice of his repose. Much as he desired to do so, he could feel no affection for this singular being. His beau ideal of loveliness was in every respect the exact opposite of this dazzling vision. But he said nothing, for he was well aware that words would be spoken in vain.

      "A little note from the Frau Professorin Valentin came while you were away. The zaunkönig left it in the shop himself."

      Edwin absently opened and read it. It contained a request to visit the writer in the course of the day if possible, as she wished to speak to him about a very important matter.

      He threw down the sheet, took up a volume of some work on physical science, and began to read. Balder, who was working industriously at his turning lathe—he had reason to be industrious, since of late, unnoticed by Edwin, the state of their strong box had become very critical—saw plainly that he did not turn the page, but did not venture to rouse him from his reverie. What could he have said to console him?

      Evening came. The Frau Professorin's note seemed forgotten. But when Balder reminded him of it, Edwin started up and said he would attend to the matter at once; he was curious to know what important news could come to him from that quarter. So he left the room, with a dry "Adieu!" Seldom, as we know, did he part from Balder without a jest or a brotherly caress, but the spell of melancholy was too strong for him.

      Since his first visit, he had only seen the estimable lady a few times in the zaunkönig's studio, from which she instantly retreated when he came to give his lesson. She seemed very kindly disposed toward him, with a motherly cheerfulness, which often, on her brightest days, reminded him of his own mother; so he noticed it the more plainly, when she now met him with anxious seriousness and a certain degree of formality.

      "Dear Herr Doctor," said she, "I begged you to come to see me because I wished to discuss a matter which has caused me grave anxiety. Do you know that you've cost me a sleepless night?"

      "You're too kind," he answered smiling.

      "I'm entirely in earnest. I should have to like you much less than I do if my opinion of you could be a matter of indifference to me. Tell me, is it true? Are you really the author of this essay, or have you a namesake, for whose opinions you are not responsible?"

      She took out a green volume, which she had carefully locked up in her writing desk. It was a number of a philosophical magazine, to which for several years Edwin had been a contributor.

      "So far as I'm aware," he answered in a jesting tone, "my parents have had but one son Edwin, who devotes himself to philosophy. Let me see. 'Examination of the proofs of the existence of God.' Certainly that's mine.

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