The parting from the family in which I had been so treated for more than two years; the parting from the cook, who had been a friend to me in her simple, unspoiled fashion; the parting from my dear teacher, Miss Risa de Vall; and the parting from home—none of them were easy to me. Lightest to bear of all these partings was perhaps the last-named one. My parents had grown so poor during the two years I had been away that I more than ever longed to help them. When they knew what I was about to do, and when I further showed to them the letter from Buda-Pesth confirming my engagement to three children with a salary of thirty-five shillings a month, they, too, thought in their way that I had at last made my fortune. Out of the little money I I bought a small trunk, covered with brown, strong canvas, such as are used as hand-bags for travelling. But after I had packed my things, the trunk, small though it was, was only half filled, so few worldly goods could I call my own. That, however, troubled me but little. While I was packing the cheap things, one after the other, into the bag, I was dreaming all the time of thirty-five shillings, and of the wonderful things I could buy with them.  
On the very day before my departure a letter arrived from my brother. There had never been an address upon his former letters, but on this occasion there was one. He told us that he was making quite a lot of money, but he did not say how he made it. I was not surprised at this , for I simply thought that he had really become an artist, and did not mention his work because he took it for granted that nobody at home would understand it. But I longed to know what he really was—a painter, a , or a poet. The last thought made me blush with and pride. Yes, a poet—that was very likely, since I was writing[Pg 119] poems too; but then, of course, my poems would never be as good as his!
 
The address given in his letter was the name of a café. During the time that I had still to spend at home I thought of my brother, and at last I had such a very bold and daring idea that I was surprised at my own courage. I would go and visit him. On my way to Buda-Pesth I had to pass Vienna, and I to break my journey there in order to look him up. I told my mother about it before leaving home the next day, and she thought that he might certainly be very pleased to see me.
 
I had put on my very best dress for the journey. It was made out of a cheap blue woollen material. To match this dress I had bought a light blue straw hat that had cost two shillings, and I felt convinced that I looked exceptionally smart. My parents went to see me off, and to make it easier for all of us I kept on talking about the thirty-five shillings every month, and about the things one could do with them. We arrived at the station early, and paced up and down the platform. When the train at last came steaming in, I suppressed my tears as bravely as I could, took my seat by the window of the , and nodded to my people with a smile on my face. A few minutes later the horn was sounded to signal the departure; my father waved his hat to me, my mother wiped her eyes, and I looked quickly away from the window with a in my throat that could no longer be suppressed.
 
The journey to Vienna lasted four hours, during which time I thought much of my brother. I felt absolutely certain that I had gained a great deal during the last two years, and pictured to myself his joy and surprise when he heard that I had also a little knowledge of the English language. When I had travelled about half the journey it occurred to me to write down a few of my poems, and to ask his opinion about them. I found some white paper in my bag, and started at once.
 
In Vienna I showed my brother's address to a policeman, and begged him to direct me. A little later I walked up and down in front of a café, carrying my trunk in my hands. So far I had not encountered any difficulties, but now I was not quite sure how to proceed. It is true that the most simple thing to do would have been to enter the café, but I did not dare to do so because of all the smartly-dressed people who sat round the tables. Perhaps, I said to myself, he will come out, or, should he be away from home, go in, and then there might be a chance for me to speak to him. However, after a whole hour had passed, and my little trunk had become heavy in my hands, I stepped quite close to one of the tall windows, and looked boldly at the fashionable crowd, hoping to see him seated at one of the gilded tables. But the faces were all strange to me, and making a last desperate appeal to my courage, I had just to go in, when I saw a waiter whose gait and carriage seemed familiar to me. He was with his back against the window and I could not see his face, but I had the impression that I had met him somewhere before. I stared at him, and had almost forgotten why I was there when a guest seated near the window tapped the table with his spoon, and the waiter, who had aroused my interest, immediately turned round and hurried towards him. I was so surprised that I nearly dropped my trunk. The waiter was my brother. Without hesitating another minute I went in. He caught sight of me directly, and looking round him carefully in order to whether he was watched or not, told me in a low voice to leave the café at once, and to wait for him at the corner of the street, where he would join me in half an hour. I did as he told me, but while I stood at the corner waiting for him I could hardly get over my surprise. The whole thing seemed to be a dream. I doubted whether I had really seen my brother, and whether it was true that he was only a waiter and not an artist, as I had firmly believed him to be. When the half-hour was over a young man dressed in the height of fashion came up to me. I felt a new surprise; the smart young man was my brother. I thought that he had his day off, and admired the cut and colour of his suit.
 
 
"Do you get tipped so well?" I, pursuing my own thoughts, asked him after we had shaken hands.
 
"Incredible!" he cried scornfully. "How can you be so tactless as to remind me in such a manner of the profession I am in?"
 
"Why do you call it a miserable profession?"
 
&............