Arms and the Woman - Page 68/169

"Perhaps it was, Why should Gretchen not revoke the promise to which

she holds me?"

"You should know, Herr," said Gretchen, gently.

"But I do not. I only know that a man is human and that a beautiful

woman was made to be loved." Everything seemed solved now that

Gretchen stood at my side.

But she turned as if to go.

"Gretchen," I called, "do not go. Forgive me; if only you understood!'"

"Perhaps I do understand," she replied with a gentleness new to me.

"Do you remember why I asked you to stay?"

"Yes; I was to be your friend."

"This time it is for me to ask whether I go or stay."

"Stay, Gretchen!" But I was a hypocrite when I said it.

"I knew that you would say that," simply.

"Gretchen, sit down and I'll tell you the story of my life, as they say

on the stage." I knocked the dead ash from my pipe and stuffed the

bowl with fresh weed. I lit it and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.

"Do you see that, Gretchen?"

"Yes, Herr," sitting down, the space of a yard between us.

"It is pretty, very; but see how the wind carries it about! As it

leaves my throat it looks like a tangible substance. Reach for it and

it is gone. That cloud of smoke is my history."

"It disappears," said Gretchen.

"And so shall I at the appointed time. That cloud of smoke was a

fortune. I reached for it, and there was nothing but the air in my

hand. It was a woman's love. For five years I watched it curl and

waver. In it I saw many castles and the castles were fair, indeed. I

strove to grasp this love; smoke, smoke. Smoke is nothing, given a

color. Thus it is with our dreams. If only we might not wake!"

Gretchen's eyes were following the course of the languid river.

"Once there was a woman I thought I loved; but she would have none of

it. She said that the love I gave her was not complete because she did

not return it. She brought forth the subject of affinities, and

ventured to say that some day I might meet mine. I scoffed inwardly.

I have now found what she said to be true. The love I gave her was the

bud; the rose-- Gretchen," said I, rising, "I love you; I am not a

hypocrite; I cannot parade my regard for you under the flimsy guise of

friendship."