such understanding? Yet now I think I should have told you all.
Once again we met by the side of the lotuses. Our eyes were full of the memory of the first meeting. I turned away my eyes lest they should reveal my secret, and said lightly: "What a wealth of flowers we have this year!"
"Why, don't you remember," you said, "last year, too, there was exactly such a profusion? We two sat here and made a huge garland of white lotuses."
"Oh, one cannot always remember everything that happened in one's childhood," I replied.
"Childhood? Why it was only last year! Do you forget so soon?"
"I cannot remember every trifle," I replied with a show of disdain.
Your voice had a mingling of sadness in it when you said, "I remember many greater trifles."
"Then you must lend me a share of your memory. I have nearly lost mine," I said with a laugh.
If I had you now near me I could tell you that my memory for trifles was even greater than yours. I remembered every look, every gesture of yours; I had got by heart all your habits, likes and dislikes. I pretended to ignore you, but I never ceased to look after your every comfort. I tried to blind you, but why were you so easily blinded? Why could you not see through my thin subterfuges?
Gradually I grew more and more scarce to you. I never had time to walk or talk with you. But as I gave up things in outward appearance, in my inmost heart they established themselves all the more firmly. I thought only of you; I worked only for you. This was my only joy, that I could still serve you though you knew it not.
