With soft words and gentle caresses he stills the flow of her tears. The pain of betrayal he removes with a light kiss on her forehead. At a loss for words, she looks at him; she does not know who he is, or where he came from. She has never seen the kind, yet a bit sad, face before. Her thoughts are clearing, wounds of soul are healed. Then he tells her with a gesture to open her blouse, and she reveals her breasts to him. Resolutely, he drives his hand through the skin below her rib cage. Upwards, inwards, until he gets a firm grip on her heart. Stunned she looks on as he lifts it up to the soft lamplight. How pitiable and worn-out it looks! He caresses her heart, squeezing it softly with his large hand and whispering tender words to it. He catches drops of blood that falls from it, and pours them back. Then, when the heart lives up again, he carefully returns it to the hole in her body. The wound is closed the very moment he removes his hand. She is whole again. Grief and pain are gone. Astonished, she looks to his face. A face filled with despair and solitude. She reaches out for him, but he turns her hand away, shivering. Tears run down his cheeks as he kisses her again. He mumbles a quick 'I love you,' then he turns, and leaves. She gets up, renewed by his magic, and she admires her still half-naked body's new image in the mirror. Tonight she will sleep deeply, and next morning she will remember nothing of what took place. He takes a last look at her through the window, then he returns to the night. His tears are dry, but the pain is still there. The man who mends broken hearts. His own he could never heal.