"And you are glad to take up your
life again?"
"No," she said quietly. "I have not got as far as that yet. But I
believe that after some little time I may be glad. I hope so, I am
working for that. Sometimes I begin to have a keen interest in
everything. I wake up with an enthusiasm. After about two hours I have
lost it again."
"Poor little child," he said tenderly. "I, too know what that is. But
you _will_ get back to gladness: not the same kind of satisfaction as
before; but some other satisfaction, that compensation which is said
to be included in the scheme."
"And I have begun my book," she said, pointing to a few sheets lying on
the counter: that is to say, I have written the Prologue."
"Then the dusting of the books has not sufficed?" he said, scanning her
curiously.
"I wanted not to think of myself," Bernardine, said. "Now that I have
begun it, I shall enjoy going on with it. I hope it will be a companion
to me."
"I wonder whether you will make a failure or a success of it?" he
remarked. "I wish I could have seen."
"So you will," she said. "I shall finish it, and you will read it in
Petershof."
"I shall not be going back to Petershof," he said.
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