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- I. The Hand of the Invisible
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I
THE HAND OF THE INVISIBLE
With a feeling of wild joy I returned from
the northern railway station, where I had said
good-bye to my wife. She was going to our
child, who was ill in a distant place. The
sacrifice of my heart was then fulfilled. Her last
words, “When shall we meet again?” and my
answer, “Soon!” echoed in my ears, like
falsehoods which one is unwilling to confess. A
foreboding said to me “Never!” And, as a matter
of fact, these parting words which we exchanged
in November, 1894, were our last, for to this
present time. May, 1897, I have not seen my
dear wife again.
As I entered the Café de la Régence, I placed
myself at the table where I used to sit with my
wife, my beautiful jail-keeper, who watched my
soul day and night, guessed my secret thoughts,
marked the course of my ideas, and was jealous
of my investigations into the unknown.
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Project Runeberg, Wed Dec 20 19:57:50 2023
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