street with him. One day a picnic was arranged by my cousins, and I asked if the musician could be of the party, but as the others objected to a stranger, I stayed at home. He then invited me to go alone with him to Loschwitz, which my mother did not object to, and, as usual, an untruth was told to my father.
"After this we one evening played a game of forfeits, and he was deputed to kiss me, which I distinctly refused to allow. He went into his room, and my mother, by some ruse or another, sent me to him. He repeatedly asked me for the kiss, and got it, and from that day I really loved him so much that, according to my fifteen-year-old ideas, I thought that I could never love another so well. The previous intimacy now began to worry me dreadfully, but I did not see any way out of it. However, the correspondence soon came to an end.
"The young musician asked my mother for my hand, but she told him I was far too young to think of a serious engagement. Soon afterwards I heard that he was on the point of being engaged to some one else—which report, however, turned out eventually to be untrue—and my despair was beyond everything. Anyhow he left us, and, a fortnight later, Mr. Stephensen took the room. The day the musician departed, I knelt on the floor and tore off some dead twigs of a garland which he had won at a shooting competition, and kept it as a souvenir.
"Mr. Stephensen then came. Later on he assured me that he had only engaged the lodging for my sake, as in reality he did not care for it. He was thus already attracted by me, and, as he afterwards told me, looked upon me as a superior and unapproachable being. For the sake of both these men's honour, I must remark that they were never unduly familiar towards me. Therefore I could
