For almost a fortnight this unbearable restraint has lain upon us.
Her friend lives with her, and we are never alone. A circle of men
surrounds the young women. With my seriousness and melancholy I am
playing an absurd role as lover. Wanda treats me like a stranger.

To-day, while out walking, she staid behind with me. I saw that this
was done intentionally, and I rejoiced. But what did she tell me?

"My friend doesn't understand how I can love you. She doesn't think
you either handsome or particularly attractive otherwise. She is
telling me from morning till night about the glamour of the frivolous
life in the capital, hinting at the advantages to which I could lay
claim, the large parties which I would find there, and the
distinguished and handsome admirers which I would attract. But of
what use is all this, since it happens that I love you."

For a moment I lost my breath, then I said: "I have no wish to stand
in the way of your happiness, Wanda. Do not consider me." Then I
raised my hat, and let her go ahead. She looked at me surprised, but
did not answer a syllable.

When by chance I happened to be close to her on the way back, she
secretly pressed my hand. Her glance was so radiant, so full of
promised happiness, that in a moment all the torments of these days
were forgotten and all their wounds healed.

I now am aware again of how much I love her.

* * * * *