He only
glanced at the outside of the letters awaiting him; there was no one
from her; not in that way was Nina to communicate with him, if her hopes
for the future, her forgiveness for what lay in the past, were to reach
him at all. He drew a chair to the table and sat down, leaving the
letters unheeded.
The slow minutes passed; his thoughts went wandering over the world,
seeking for what they could not find. And how was he to call to Nina
across the black gulf of the night, wheresoever she might be? Suddenly
there leaped into his recollection an old German ballad he used to sing.
It was that of the three comrades who were wont to drink together, until
one died, and another died, and nevertheless the solitary survivor kept
the accustomed tryst, and still, sitting there alone, he had the three
glasses filled, and still he sang aloud, "_Aus voller Brust._" There
came an evening; as he filled the cups, a tear fell into his own; yet
bravely he called to his ghostly companions, "I drink to you, my
brothers--but why are you so mute and still?" And behold! the glasses
clinked together; and the wine was slowly drunk out of all the three,
"_Fiducit! du wackerer Zecher!_"--it was the loyal comrade's last
draught.
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