Page:Poet Lore, volume 25, 1914.djvu/586

 at all to do. My work was over early. All the windows are on this side, so this was the only interesting place I could look on, as you never did lower your windowshades.

Theresa (disturbed).—Who could fancy that -you insolent, low fellow

Valenta (smiling).—Really, Gnädige, do not excite yourself—I will not mention a word to a living person—I am a very discreet man, you know—but—our sort gets into all kinds of places and learns of all kinds of secrets—because them fellows across the yard there, they give away many dark things—so our sort, as I say, goes deeper into secrets than the priest or the doctor

Theresa.—Yes—I know it. So here we were spied upon for fifteen years, and you have the brazen boldness to brag about it.

Valenta.—But, Gnädige, when I mentioned it to the doctor he was not a bit excited about it. I told him the same that I told you, but he only smiled and told me to call a little later. And I watched him all these years, there in his room at his desk where he sat over his masses of law papers and books, just as I watched the young man, his assistant. They used to sit in there and you used to sit at the window. There was also a couch,—it is not here now—You sat alone and sewed and sang. And right here over your head hung a beautiful little canary which sang loudly as though it wanted to compete with you. What became of it—did it die—the poor, dear thing?

Theresa.—Keep quiet, man, for heaven’s sake, keep quiet.

Valenta.—I used to envy you this peaceful, well-regulated life, Gnädige Frau. Right over there in the hall hung a large picture—it's not there any longer either. (Looks about.) You have moved and changed it all—and it is a long time since you sang, Gnädige.

Theresa.—Why are you torturing me?

Valenta.—I—Gnädige—heaven forbid—Good Lord, your simple life,—at least, the way I saw it,—(looking intently at her) gives you no reason for alarm or reproach.