“I may as well confess that the grocer and his daughter had, in the course of these disagreeable developments, quite receded into the background.  Now that things had calmed down and I was considering what steps to take next, the remembrance of that last evening came vividly back to my mind.  The old man, selfish as he was, I could understand very well; but the girl!  Once in a while it occurred to me that if I had taken care of my money and been able to offer her a comfortable existence, she might have even—­but she wouldn’t have accepted me.”  With that he surveyed his wretched figure with hands outstretched.  “Besides, she disliked my courteous behavior toward everybody.”

“Thus I spent entire days thinking and planning.  One evening at twilight—­it was the time I had usually spent in the store—­I had transported myself in spirit to the accustomed place.  I could hear them speaking, hear them abusing me; it even seemed as though they were ridiculing me.  Suddenly I heard a rustling at the door; it opened, and a woman entered.  It was Barbara.  I sat riveted to my chair, as though I beheld a ghost.  She was pale, and carried a bundle under her arm.  When she had reached the middle of the room she remained standing, looked at the bare walls and the wretched furniture, and heaved a deep sigh.  Then she went to the wardrobe which stood on one side against the wall, opened her bundle containing some shirts and handkerchiefs—­she had been attending to my laundry during the past few weeks—­and pulled out the drawer.  When she beheld the meagre contents she lifted her hands in astonishment, but immediately began to arrange the linen and put away the pieces she had brought, whereupon she stepped back from the bureau.  Then she looked straight at me and, pointing with her finger to the open drawer, she said, ’Five shirts and three handkerchiefs.  I’m bringing back what I took away.’  So saying she slowly closed the drawer, leaned against the wardrobe, and began to cry aloud.  It almost seemed as though she were going to faint, for she sat down on a chair beside the wardrobe and covered her face with her shawl.  By her convulsive breathing I could see that she was still weeping.  I had approached her softly and took her hand, which she willingly left in mine.  But when, in order to make her look up, I moved my hand up to the elbow of her limp arm, she rose quickly, withdrew her hand, and said in a calm voice, ’Oh, what’s the use of it all?  You’ve made yourself and us unhappy; but yourself most of all, and you really don’t deserve any pity’—­here she became more agitated—­’since you’re so weak that you can’t manage your own affairs and so credulous that you trust everybody, a rogue as soon as an honest man—­and yet I’m sorry for you!  I’ve come to bid you farewell.  You may well look alarmed.  And it’s all your doing.  I’ve got to go out among common people, something that I’ve always dreaded; but there’s no help for it.  I’ve shaken hands with you, so farewell, and forever!’ I