in which there was but little change (for only a few of my things had been brought to their flat) I burst out crying. Martha stood by my side, grave and mournful.
Later, too, at the moment of my departure, there came to me a horrible pain of unbounded bewilderment, that took me, so to speak, suddenly by the throat. All this was, I thought, so heart-rending, so incomprehensible!
Imszanski was speaking to the porter who helped the man-servant to take my things downstairs. Then I asked Martha: "Don't you—don't you think it were better for me to die now, this instant?"
A smile dawned in her face, which she averted to hide it.
"No," she said; "there is no need. Nothing comes to me unexpectedly now. … And latterly I have found an enemy—in myself besides."
Quietly, daintily, she kissed me on the lips, and then, with a gracious gesture, gave her hand to Imszanski, who was going out to take me to my new abode.
I sit for a long time, spending the evening with Imszanski. And I enjoy myself. Al-
