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Updated: June 4, 2025
His feelings were not to be put on and off, like clothes; he had no power over them. It was simply a case of accepting things as they were, and this he sought to do. But his imagination made it hard for him, by throwing up pictures in which Schilsky was all-prominent. He saw him the confidant of her joys and troubles; HE knew their origin, knew what key her day was set in.
For, after his one encounter with Ephie and Schilsky, in the woods that summer, and the first firing of his suspicions, he had seen nothing else to render him uneasy; a few weeks later, Ephie had gone to Switzerland, and, on her return in September, or almost directly afterwards three or four days at most Schilsky had taken his departure.
From this to persuading herself that her feelings were returned was only a step. Events and details, lighter than puff-balls, were to her links of iron, which formed a wonderful chain of evidence. She went about nursing the idea that Schilsky desired an introduction as much as she did; that he was suffering from a romantic and melancholy attachment, which forbade him attempting to approach her.
Then Furst grew obstreperous, and wanted to pour his beer on the floor as soon as it was set before him, so that they were put out of two places, in the second of which they left Krafft. But the better half of the night was over before Schilsky was comfortably drunk, and in a state to unbosom himself to a sympathetic waitress, about the hardship it was to be bound to some one older than yourself.
With a rush of enlightenment, Maurice looked back at the young man, but this time Schilsky saw that he was being watched; stooping, he said a nonchalant word to his companion, and thereupon they went indoors again. All this passed like a flash, but it left, none the less, a disagreeable impression, and before Maurice had recovered from it, Ephie said: "Let us go in."
That was all she said to Johanna; but, during her illness, she had brooded long over his treachery. And even if things had come all right in the end, she would never have been able to forgive his speaking to her of Schilsky in the way he had done. No, she was finished with Maurice Guest; he was too double-faced, too deceitful for her. And she cried bitterly, with her face turned to the wall.
A passionate rebellion, a kind of primitive hatred, gripped Maurice, and when Schilsky paused for breath, he could contain himself no longer. He felt the burning need of contradicting the speaker, even though he could not catch the drift of what was said. "It's a lie!" he cried fiercely, with such emphasis that every face was turned to him. "A damned lie!" "A lie?
Month? no, nor the last six months either! It's been a hell of a life. Three of 'em, whole damned three, at my heels, and each ready to tear the others' eyes out." "Three! Hullo!" "Three? Bah! what's three?" sneered the painted youth. Schilsky turned on him. "What's three? Go and try it, if you want to know, you pap-sodden suckling!
As for Maurice, he was in such poor spirits that she could not but observe it. "Why are you so quiet? Is anything the matter?" He shook his head, without speaking. His vague sense of impending misfortune had crystallised into a definite thought; he knew now what it signified. If Schilsky went away from Leipzig, Louise would probably go, too, and that would be the end of everything.
And this I must say: however foolish and wrong the whole thing was, she was devoted to Schilsky, and sacrificed everything work, money and friends to her infatuation. She lived only for him, and this is a moral judgment on her. Excess of any kind brings its own punishment with it." She rose and smoothed her hair before the mirror.
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