When he arrived at her house, he seemed to be expected, for the porter knew his name, took him into his lodge, and without any further explanation, told him immediately to put on the livery of his mistress, which was lying there ready for him.  He ground his teeth, but resigned himself without a word to his wretched, though laughable fate; it was quite clear that the actress had some purpose in making the poet wear her livery.  He tried to remember whether he could formerly have offended her by his notices as a theatrical critic, but before he could arrive at any conclusion, he was told to go and show himself to Frau von Kubinyi.

She evidently wished to enjoy his humiliation.

He was shown into a small drawing-room, which was furnished with an amount of taste and magnificence such as he had never seen before, and was told to wait.  But he had not been alone many minutes, before the door-curtains were parted and Frau von Kubinyi came in, calm but deadly pale, in a splendid dressing gown of some Turkish material, and he recognized his former mistress.

“Irma!” he exclaimed.

The cry came from his heart, and it also affected the heart of the woman, who was surfeited with pleasure, so greatly that the next moment she was lying on the breast of the man whom she had believed to be dead, but only for a moment, and then he freed himself from her.

“We are fated to meet again thus!” she began.

“Not through any fault of mine,” he replied bitterly.

“And not through mine either,” she said quickly; “everybody thought that you were dead, and I wept for you; that is my justification.”

“You are really too kind,” he replied sarcastically.  “How can you condescend to make any excuses to me?  I wear your livery, and you have to order, and I have to obey; our relative positions are clear enough.”

Frau von Kubinyi turned away to hide her tears.

“I did not intend to hurt your feelings,” he continued:  “but I must confess that it would have been better for both of us, if we had not met again.  But what do you mean by making me wear your livery?  It is not enough that I have been robbed of my happiness?  Does it afford you any pleasure to humiliate me as well?”

“How can you think that?” the actress exclaimed.  “Oh!  Ever since I have discovered your unhappy lot, I have thought of nothing but the means of delivering you from it, and until I succeed in doing this, however, I can at least make it more bearable for you.”

“I understand,” the unhappy poet said with a sneer.  “And in order to do this, you have begged your present worshiper, to turn your former lover into a footman.”

“What a thing to say to me!”

“Can you find any other plea?”

“You wish to punish me for having loved you, idolized you, I suppose?” the painter continued.  “So exactly like a woman!  But I can perfectly well understand that the situation promises to have a fresh charm for you...”