“Go on!”
“Jack is very sure that all goes well at the end, and I am full of hope when—”
“But if you knew him, why did you strike him that night in front of the Regierung?”
“But I did not know him there in the dark, and that he should kiss you there in the street, that did me great surprise. And you have scream so, naturally I have not think but of a stranger; one would not expect a cousin of such a scream.”
“And you went off with him the very next day; why didn’t you let him go alone?”
“He has say you were better left. Mon Dieu, but I have been the angel these past months! I must despair, you are so much decided; and when I despair the most, Jack will always say, ‘Wait and you shall see that she sails never from Genoa.’ But I was most unhappy. And my work, my work that should have gone so greatly out to the world this summer! Perdu—lost—lost!”
She laid her cheek softly against his.
“But that music is not really gone,” she whispered; “it will find a voice again, a better voice, because—”
She kissed him fondly.
“Oh, of a surety,” he said, returning the kiss twofold; “do not think that I repent me of one second lost in your winning. Mon Dieu, what life was left me if I had get you not? That I will never bear to remember for a second. But you must now say that you forgive the man who did write the letter from Zurich. You will, will you not?”