As she came out of the office a gentleman greeted her. She turned a deep red, and stopped for a moment at the top of the two stone steps leading from the entrance. Her head was bent almost to her chest, as though she were looking very carefully at the steps before venturing to come down them. They greeted each other again; the stranger shook her hand, and they began to talk. He was a man of her own age, good-looking, with a soft, fair beard, and dark eyebrows that looked as though he had blacked them. He wore a top hat, and his overcoat, which was open, was lined with silk. I heard them mention an evening of the previous week on which they had enjoyed themselves; it had been a relaxation. There had been quite a party, first out driving, then at supper together. It was a memory they had in common. Miss Torsen didn't say much. She seemed a little embarrassed, but smiling and beautiful. I began to look at the illustrated papers displayed in the window, when suddenly the thought struck me: "Good God, she's in love!" "Look, I have a suggestion," he said. Then they discussed something, agreed about something, and she nodded. After that he left her. She came toward me slowly and in silence. I spoke to her about some of the pictures in the window. "Yes," she said, "just think!" But she gazed at them without seeing anything. Silently we walked on, and for several minutes, at least, she said nothing. "Hans Flaten never changes," she said finally. "Is that who it was?" I asked. "His name's Flaten." "Yes, I remember you mentioned the name last summer. Who is he?" "His father's a merchant." "But he himself?" "His father owns the big shop in Almes Street, you know." "Yes, but what about _him_; what does he do?" "I don't know if he does anything special; he just studies. His father's so rich, you know." I recalled old Flaten's shop in Almes Street, a good, solid countryman's shop; in the mornings the yard was always full of horses, while the owners were busy making purchases in the shop. "He's such a man of the world," she went on. "He simply throws money about--banknotes. When he goes anywhere, the people all whisper, 'That's Flaten!'" "He dresses as though he were a baron," I said. "Yes," she replied, rather offended. "Yes, he dresses well--always has." "Is that the man you want?" I asked lightly. She was silent a moment, and then said with a resolute nod: "Yes." "What--that dandy?" "Why not? We're old friends, we've gone to school together, spent a lot of time together. It's really based on a firm foundation. He's the only man I've ever been in love with in all my life, and it's lasted many years. Sometimes, I'll admit, I forget him, but the moment I see him again, I'm as much in love as ever. I've told him so, and we both laugh about it, but that doesn't change it. It's queer." "Then I suppose he's too rich to marry her," I thought, and asked nothing more. When we parted, I said: "Where does Carpenter Nikolai work?"