"
She left her seat and took several turns about the room, smiling to
herself, and uttering little German cries of wonderment. Suddenly she
stopped before the piano and broke into a little laugh; the next moment
she buried her face in the great bouquet of roses. It was time I should
go, but I was indisposed to leave her without obtaining some definite
assurance that, as far as pity was concerned, she pitied the young girl
at Smyrna more than the young man at Homburg.
"Of course you know what I wished in telling you this," I said, rising.
"She is evidently a charming creature, and the best thing he can do is to
marry her. I wished to interest you in that view of it."
She had taken one of the roses from the vase and was arranging it in the
front of her dress. Suddenly, looking up, "Leave it to me, leave it to
me!" she cried. "I am interested!" And with her little blue-gemmed hand
she tapped her forehead. "I am deeply interested!"
And with this I had to content myself. But more than once the next day I
repented of my zeal, and wondered whether a providence with a white rose
in her bosom might not turn out a trifle too human. In the evening, at
the Kursaal, I looked for Pickering, but he was not visible, and I
reflected that my revelation had not as yet, at any rate, seemed to
Madame Blumenthal a reason for prescribing a cooling-term to his passion.
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