"I know so little about them," she replied with evident embarrassment, which lent to her features a still greater charm than their former aristocratic indifference. "There was not much conversation on literature in my parents' house. Just think, I have scarcely read anything by G[oe]the." "So much the better, for great pleasures are then in store for you. If you have no objection, I will take the liberty of bringing you a few volumes to-morrow." She seemed to reflect upon the proposal. "I cannot possibly permit you to take so much trouble for a total stranger. I will send to a bookseller." "Are you afraid that I shall again intrude upon you in person?" he asked, pausing at the door. "I promise, Fräulein, that I will only consider myself your messenger, and deliver the books at the outer door. Or have you no confidence in my discretion, because I honestly confessed my curiosity?" She looked at him intently a moment, and then said: "very well, bring me what you please; I shall be grateful. Adieu!" With these words, she slightly bent her head and disappeared in the adjoining room. No choice was left Edwin but to retire also. When he reached the entrance-hall of the house and the door had closed behind him, he paused and closed his eyes, as if to collect his thoughts. Again he saw her standing before him in her beauty and with her haughty ease of manner, and a great sorrow, he knew not why, overpowered him. Little as he knew of life in the great world, or the _demi monde_, he was convinced that all was not right with this enchanted princess, since she merely dwelt like a rare bird in a gilded cage, no longer her own mistress. Then again when he thought of her calm, wondering, childish eyes, and of the little proud mouth and the full lips, which quivered slightly when she was considering an answer to one of his questions, it seemed impossible to attach a thought of guilt or depravity to this mysterious life. His own passion at the moment was completely forgotten in his unselfish interest in her fate. And yet he did not know much more about her than he knew an hour before. Not even her name, for it was not on the door. And from whom could he inquire about her, even if he had not an instinctive aversion to all underhanded measures? Just at that moment fortune again befriended him. A stout middle-aged woman in a bonnet and shawl, with a little basket on her arm, slowly descended the stairs; it was with evident surprise that she saw a stranger lingering in the hall, and, with the air of one responsible for the order of the house, she asked whom he wished to see. He replied that he had only brought back an article belonging to the young lady within, which he had found, and that he was just leaving; then pausing a few steps before her, as she followed him on foot, he murmured absently: "What a pity!"