His pen was between his lips; his books and papers were
held under his arm. He seated himself at a table, and resumed his
studies.
Marie would have been untrue to her sex had she not watched him for
several minutes through her metal screen--watched and admired the superb
head, supported on one hand as he bent intently over his book, the
broad brow, the classical nose, the chin and lips of an Achilles--all as
motionless as if they had been molded in bronze. A true hero--a hero who
battled with the most powerful demons of earth, the human passions, and
conquered. From that day Marie found her old sweet sleep again.
The second day Marie's curiosity prompted her to signal to Ludwig half
an hour earlier. He heard, and came as readily at half-past nine
o'clock. And then the little maid (like all indulged children) abused
her privileges: she signaled at nine o'clock, and at last at eight
o'clock--retiring with the birds in order to test if Ludwig would obey
the signal.
He always came promptly when the falling screen summoned him.
And then Marie said to herself:
"He loves me. He loves me very much--as the fakir loves his Brahma, as
the Carthusian loves his sainted Virgin.
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