Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part I - I
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assemble. They were already crowding the ante-room:
doctors and candidates of philosophy and medicine, all
of them anxious to learn the programme of the
entertainment in store. I had made up my mind in the meantime,
and with many apologies refused to be one of the party.
They clamoured for my reasons. I produced my letter
and handed it to a zoologist who was looked upon as an
expert in all matters pertaining to love; he shook his head
while perusing it.
“No good, that...” he muttered disconnectedly;
“wants to be married... would never sell herself...
family, my dear old chap... straight path... but
do what you like. You’ll find us in the Park, later on,
if the spirit moves you to join us, and I have been wrong
about the lady....”
At the hour indicated I took up my position near the
house mentioned, and awaited the appearance of the
unknown letter-writer.
The roll of music in her hand, what was it but a
proposal of marriage? It differed in no way from the
announcements on the fourth page of certain newspapers.
I suddenly felt uneasy; too late—the lady had arrived
and we stood looking at each other.
My first impression—I believe in first impressions—was
quite vague. She was of uncertain age, between
twenty-nine and forty, fantastically dressed. What was
she? Artist or blue-stocking? A sheltered woman or
one living a free and independent life? Emancipated or
cocotte? I wondered....
She introduced herself as the fiancée of an old friend
of mine, an opera singer, and said that he wished me to
look after her while she was staying in town. This was
untrue, as I found out later on.
She was like a little bird, twittering incessantly. After
she had talked for half-an-hour I knew all about her; I
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