The fair women on earth will never miss them. But should they some day come sneaking along with their lust—so love is called in the stars—the plainest women in the slums might teach them that there is more poetry to be found in a pair of maiden eyes than in all the stars put together.
After which I continue my story about Marie.
LIII am anxiously feeling my pulse. Whatever is the matter? What strange fluid has poisoned my blood? Fire burns in my veins, fever rages in my head. A perpetual terror has taken hold of me. During the day it robs me of all strength, so that for hours I sit idly staring in front of me. But during the night, when at last I have fallen asleep, it seems to lurk just at the back of my ears. Suddenly it will leap out and terrify me, and with a shriek I am awake.
I am ashamed of my weakness, and least of all would I confess it to Marie.
Besides, just now Marie needs to be comforted. She is not happy. In a few months' time she is going to be married. She cried the other day she was with me. I forced myself to speak encouragingly to her. Of course there was nothing new in that, we had known she was going to be married for ever so long. With such simple comforting words I dried Marie's tears. Of course I am right, she says, and she laughs with me and admits that she is a foolish child. But the moment I see Marie smile, I bring down the glass I hold in my hand so