At the appointed hour I crossed the Rhine, and the first person I
met on the opposite bank was the very boy who had come to me in the
morning. He was obviously waiting for me.
‘From Fraülein Annette,’ he said in a whisper, and he handed me another
note.
Acia informed me she had changed the place of our meeting. I was to go
in an hour and a half, not to the chapel, but to Frau Luise’s house, to
knock below, and go up to the third storey.
‘Is it, yes, again?’ asked the boy.
‘Yes,’ I repeated, and I walked along the bank of the Rhine. There was
not time to go home, I didn’t want to wander about the streets. Beyond
the town wall there was a little garden, with a skittle ground and
tables for beer drinkers. I went in there. A few middle-aged Germans
were playing skittles; the wooden balls rolled along with a sound of
knocking, now and then cries of approval reached me. A pretty waitress,
with her eyes swollen with weeping, brought me a tankard of beer; I
glanced at her face. She turned quickly and walked away.
‘Yes, yes,’ observed a fat, red-cheeked citizen sitting by, ‘our
Hannchen is dreadfully upset to-day; her sweetheart’s gone for a
soldier.’ I looked at her; she was sitting huddled up in a corner, her
face propped on her hand; tears were rolling one by one between her
fingers. Some one called for beer; she took him a pot, and went back
to her place. Her grief affected me; I began musing on the interview
awaiting me, but my dreams were anxious, cheerless dreams. It was with
no light heart I was going to this interview; I had no prospect before
me of giving myself up to the bliss of love returned; what lay before
me was to keep my word, to do a difficult duty. ‘One can’t play with
her.’ These words of Gagin’s had gone through my heart like arrows. And
three days ago, in that boat borne along by the current, had I not been
pining with the thirst for happiness? It had become possible, and I was
hesitating, I was pushing it away, I was bound to push it from me--its
suddenness bewildered me. Acia herself, with her fiery temperament, her
past, her bringing-up, this fascinating, strange creature, I confess
she frightened me. My feelings were long struggling within me. The
appointed hour was drawing near. ‘I can’t marry her,’ I decided at
last; ‘she shall not know I love her.’
I got up, and putting a thaler in the hand of poor Hannchen (she did
not even thank me), I directed my steps towards Frau Luise’s. The air
was already overcast with the shadows of evening, and the narrow strip
of sky, above the dark street, was red with the glow of sunset. I
knocked faintly at the door; it was opened at once. I stepped through
the doorway, and found myself in complete darkness.
‘This way.’ I heard an old woman’s voice. ‘You’re expected.’