The waitress came over to me again.
“Will you have anything to drink?” she asks, bending down a little towards me. I looked at her. She spoke very low, almost shyly, and dropped her eyes. “I mean a glass of ale, or whatever you like best … from me … without … that is, if you will …”
“No; many thanks,” I answer. “Not now; I shall come back another time.”
She drew 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 goodnight, 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 shopwindow, 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 café 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 lamppost, 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; my nerves are irritated by my last meal. I pass her by as usual; am almost at the door and on the point of entering. There I stop. All of a sudden an inspiration seizes me. Without rendering myself any account of it, I turn round and go straight up to the lady, look her in the face, and bow.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening,” she answers.
Excuse me, was she looking for anything? I had noticed her before; could I be of assistance to her in any way? begged pardon, by-the-way, so earnestly for inquiring.
Yes; she didn’t quite know. …
No one lived inside that door besides three or four horses and myself; it was, for that matter, only a stable and a tinker’s workshop. … She was certainly on a wrong track if she was seeking anyone there.
At this she turns her head away, and says: “I am not seeking for anybody. I am only standing here; it was really only a whim. I” … she stops.
Indeed, really, she only stood there, just stood there, evening after evening, just for a whim’s sake!
That was a little odd. I stood and pondered over it, and it perplexed me more and more. I made up my mind to be daring; I jingled my money in my pocket, and asked her, without further ado, to come and have a glass of wine some place or another … in consideration that winter had come, ha, ha! … it needn’t take very long … but perhaps she would scarcely. …
Ah, no, thanks; she couldn’t well do that. No! she couldn’t do that; but would I be so kind as to accompany her a little way? She … it was rather dark to go home now, and she was rather nervous about going up Carl Johann after it got so late.
We moved on; she walked at my right side. A strange, beautiful feeling empowered me; the certainty of being near a young girl. I looked at her the whole way along. The scent of her hair; the warmth that irradiated from her body; the perfume of woman that accompanied her; the sweet breath every time she turned her face towards me—everything penetrated in an ungovernable way through all my senses. So far, I just caught a glimpse of a full, rather pale, face behind the veil, and a high bosom that curved out against her cape. The thought of all the hidden beauty which I surmised lay sheltered under the cloak and veil bewildered me, making me idiotically happy without any reasonable grounds. I could not endure it any longer; I touched her with my hand, passed my fingers over her shoulder, and smiled imbecilely.
“How queer you are,” said I.
“Am I, really; in what way?”
Well, in the first place, simply, she had
