She looked at him quietly, as if she considered it beneath her dignity even to let him perceive that his jesting tone annoyed her. "This is not my work," she replied; "under other circumstances, I should have been very indifferent to its loss, for it is not even pretty. But it is a present from my youngest sister, who put it in my hymn-book the day I was confirmed." "Strange!" he said, as if to himself. "What is strange?" "That book-marks, as well as books, have their destinies. From a hymn-book to Balzac!" "Balzac? How to you know--" "I beg your pardon, Fräulein; while I was waiting for you, I opened yonder book. Do you read French works from preference?" Her eyes again rested on him with an expression of astonishment. This stranger, who was evidently only seeking some pretext to question or intrude himself upon her, was making her uncomfortable. But while meeting his calm gaze, she could find no words to dismiss him abruptly. "Certainly," she replied. "My father accustomed me to French literature; he was a German it is true, but he lived a long time in Paris. His books recalled old memories." "And do you like them? 'Père Goriot,' for instance?" "He at least interests me. The French is so pure, and--the style is so good. To be sure, many things make me angry. Those heartless daughters, who so quietly permit their old father to ruin himself for them--it is horrible." "Thank you, Fräulein," he eagerly replied. "I am glad that is your opinion. Good style, but bad music. Yet it is strange what a clever author can do. If we met such people in real life, I think we should refuse to associate with them. In books we submit to the most disagreeable society." She seemed about to make some reply, but at that moment a chambermaid entered and said a few words in a low tone. "I will come directly," answered her young mistress, and then turned to Edwin. "Excuse me, sir, I am called away. Accept my best thanks again. Jean, show the gentleman to the door." The lad instantly stepped forward, but Edwin did not seem to notice him. "I should like to ask one more question," said he. "Sir--?" "I obtained a glimpse of your charming rooms through the open doors. Everything that the most capricious fancy can desire seems to be supplied, with the exception of what is to me a necessity of life." "You mean--?" "A small library. Even the copy of Balzac, I see you have ordered from a circulating library. Pardon my frankness, Fräulein, but I do not understand how such beautiful fingers can touch a book which has already been on so many tables and passed through so many hands of doubtful cleanliness." He saw her blush and cast an almost startled glance at the book on the little marble table. "I have not been here long," she replied, "and as yet have given no thought to procuring books." "Then permit me to put my little stock at your disposal. True, it is not very rich in French literature, but if you have no aversion to German books--"