Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/147

Rh holidays. She had reached Prague and the house where she then was. Sometimes her father visited her, took every farthing from her, and went away. Of her present life, of the value of life in general, of her future, I spoke enthusiastically and with conviction. And so we sat, two lost creatures, in a silent deserted room of an ill-famed house till a late hour in the morning. And we parted with a shy kiss and the promise to see each other again on the afternoon of the next day.

She came down at five o'clock the next day and we went through crooked streets across the Franz Josef Bridge as far as Stromovka to a lonely path along the Moldau. We continued our conversation of the day before. We described our childhood to each other, and discovered many points in common there. We spoke of our likings and longings, and in many things we were in agreement. And we admitted that we were as close to each other as if we had known each other for years. When night came on, I accompanied her home. On the way back she was sad, unusually sad at the thought of what awaited her at home At the street door she begged me to wait a little, as she would return at once. She came, took me by the hand, asked me to walk quietly and led me upstairs to her room. Amid pure kisses and tears we sat together for a long, long time She wept for her own sake and I