I was obliged to relate first how I had fared and what I
had experienced. She rejoiced that I was unmarried, she pressed my
hand when I told her that I had not ceased to think of her. Then she
began to tell her story. She was married. Happily? She really had no
cause to complain. Her husband, of course, was not I, but she made no
comparisons. He treated her kindly. He made a great deal of money.
Only she was bored. Besides, he was jealous. It was absurd, since he
did not love her. On account of this jealousy she had been obliged to
cease writing to me. She was stupid at that time and did not know for
what the 'to be kept till called for' had been invented--
"Then we reached my lodgings. I was as soft-hearted and imbecile as a
student at his first love-tryst. I did not wish to degrade this
meeting to the level of a commonplace bachelor adventure. I wanted to
keep the bloom and the fragrance of the flower.
"I began to speak of the past."
Alas, dear Sigmund!
"She first said that our meeting occurred in the year 1878. When I
clasped my hands and mournfully exclaimed: 'Then you have forgotten
that it was in 1874,' she was a little confused, but recovered with the
swift remark: 'A date is of no importance, the main thing is that we
were happy, oh, very happy!' I asked if she remembered our little nest.
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