On another occasion Theodore met her in the Park. She was gathering
flowers. They both sat down in the grass. She was wearing a light
summer dress, the material of which was so thin that it plainly
revealed her slight girlish figure. He put his arms round her waist
and kissed her. She returned his kisses and he drew her to him in a
passionate embrace; but she tore herself away and told him gravely
that if he did not behave himself she would never meet him again.

They went on meeting one another for two months. Theodore had fallen
in love with her. He had long and serious conversations with her on
the most sacred duties of life, on love, on religion, on everything,
and between-whiles he spoke to her of his passion. But she invariably
confounded him with his own arguments. Then he felt ashamed of having
harboured base thoughts of so innocent a girl, and finally his passion
was transformed into admiration for this poor little thing, who had
managed to keep herself unspotted in the midst of temptation.

He had given up the idea of going into the Church; he determined to
take the doctor's degree and--who knows--perhaps marry Rieke. He read
poetry to her while she did needlework. She let him kiss her as much
as he liked, she allowed him to fondle and caress her; but that was
the limit.

At last his brother returned from camp. He immediately ordered a
banquet at "The Equerry"; Theodore was invited. But he was made to
play all the time. He was in the middle of a waltz, to which nobody
danced, when he happened to look round; he was alone. He rose and went
into the corridor, passed a long row of doors, and at last came to a
bed-room. There he saw a sight which made him turn round, seize his
hat and disappear into the darkness.