II


After lying in bed about an hour, Frederick arose, knocked a hole
in the ice crust in the pitcher, washed himself, and in a fever of
restlessness descended again to the lower rooms of the little hotel.
In the reading-room sat a pretty young Englishwoman and a German Jewish
merchant, not so pretty and not so young. The dreariness of waiting
produced sociability. Frederick and the German entered into a
conversation. The German informed Frederick that he had lived in the
United States and was returning by the _Roland_.

The air was grey, the room cold, the young lady impatiently paced up
and down in front of the fireplace, where there was no fire, and the
conversation of the new acquaintances dwindled into monosyllables.

The condition of the unhappy lover, as a rule, is concealed from the
persons he meets, or unintelligible to them. In either case it is
ridiculous. A man in love is alternately transported and tormented by
brilliant and gloomy illusions. In spite of the cold, cutting wind, the
young fool of love was driven restlessly out to roam the streets and
alleys of the port. He thought of what an embarrassing position he had
been in when the Jewish merchant had insinuatingly inquired for the
purpose of his journey. In his effort not to reveal the secret motive of
his ocean crossing, Frederick had stammered and stuttered and given some
sort of a vague reply. He decided that from now on, in answer to