Meanwhile I developed into the frivolous society woman everybody took me to be.  Every woman wears the mask which best suits her purpose.  My mask was my smile.  I did not wish others to see through me.  Sometimes, during a sudden silence, I have caught the echo of my own laugh—­that laugh in which you, too, delighted—­and hearing it I have shuddered.

No!  That is not quite true.  I was a different woman with you.  A real, living creature lived and breathed behind the mask.  You taught me to live.  You looked into my eyes, and heard my real laughter.

How many hours we spent together, Joergen, you and I!  But we did not talk much; we never came to the exchange of ideas.  I hardly remember anything you ever said; although I often try to recall your words.  How did we pass the happy time together?

You are the only man I ever loved.

When we first got to know each other you were five-and-twenty.  So young—­and I was eight years your senior.  We fell in love with each other at once.

You had no idea that I cared for you.

From that moment I was a changed woman.  Not better perhaps, but quite different.  A thousand new feelings awoke in me; I saw, heard, and felt in an entirely new way.  All humanity assumed a new aspect.  I, who had hitherto been so indifferent to the weal or woe of my fellow-creatures, began to observe and to understand them.  I became sympathetic.  Towards women—­not towards men.  I do not understand the male sex, and this must be my excuse for the way in which I have so often treated men.  For me there was, and is, only one man in the world:  Joergen Malthe.

At first I never gave a thought to the difference in our ages.  We were both young then.  But you were poor.  No one, least of all myself, guessed that you carried a field-marshal’s baton in your knapsack.  Money had not brought me happiness; but poverty still seemed to me the greatest misfortune that could befall any human being.

Then you received your first important commission, and I ventured to dream dreams for us both.  I never dreamt of fame and honour; what did I care whether you carried out the restoration of the cathedral or not?  The pleasure I showed in your talent I did not really feel.  It was not to the man as artist, but as lover, that my heart went out.

Later, you had a brilliant future before you; one day you would make an income sufficient for us both.  But you seemed so utterly indifferent to money that I was disappointed.  My dreams died out like a fire for want of fuel.

Had you proposed that I should become your mistress, no power on earth would have held me back.  But you were too honourable even to cherish the thought.  Besides, I let you suppose I was attached to my husband....

I knew well enough that the moment you became aware of my feelings for you, you would leave no stone unturned until you could legitimately claim me as your wife....  Such is your nature, Joergen Malthe!