I admitted that he had surmised correctly, and was relieved to be admitted into the house without further questioning. Having passed through a broad hallway or vestibule illumined by large, swinging orange-colored lamps, we entered a daintily tapestried sitting room featured by lanterns of pale blue. The young man bade me be seated on the seaweed-decorated sofa, and then left me momentarily to myself; and in that brief snatch of solitude I found myself assailed by storms of jealous questions. Who was the young man? And in what relationship did he stand to Aelios? Was he perchance some suitor of hers? Or was he merely her brother? Or was it possible--oh, unspeakable thought!--that she was already married, and that this was her husband? At the latter reflection I experienced in advance all the pangs of unsuccessful love. My head swam with senseless fury; I was weighed down with anticipatory despair, and saw myself the victim of hopes that could never be fulfilled. I had just reached the darkest point of my broodings, and was just telling myself that of course I could never attract so admirable a woman as Aelios, when I heard a well known melodious voice murmuring, “What is the matter today, my friend? What are you so depressed about?” * * * * * Recalled from my dejection as from a bad dream, I sprang up to take the hand of Aelios, who was smiling as graciously as though my visit had been expected and even welcomed. But what I next said I cannot recall. No doubt it was some bit of nonsense not worth repeating; indeed, it would perhaps have been some bit of sentimental nonsense, had I not recalled the existence of the unknown young man. But since I was too diffident to inquire who he might be, and since the thought of him remained with me in spite of Aelios’ kindness, I refrained from all sentimental advances in this, our first private meeting. It is true, that whenever her blue eyes flashed, they drew me toward her like twin magnets; it is true, that whenever she smiled, her inexpressibly sweet smile, I yearned to dash down all barriers in one long fervent confession; yet I was thankful even to be able to sit side by side with her quietly talking. In the wide years that separate me now from that brief enchanted interview, my memory has lost track of what she said, it merely retains how she said it; I can recall the sparkling eagerness with which her words poured forth, like the wavelets of a rapid crystal stream; I can recapture the sage nodding and tossing of her head, the ripples of deep feeling that passed and repassed on her mobile countenance, the luminescence as from some inner sun that would make her whole face shine as she uttered some rare bit of wit or fancy. But I do not even know the subject of our discussion, except that it was a theme suggested by her and that it was impersonal; I only know that it was she who did most of the talking