Her first impulse was to run forward and look upon the face of the speaker; but she restrained herself, or rather was restrained by the conflicting passions which agitated her breast; and without removing her eyes from the forms of the two persons before her, she followed them with feeble uncertain steps. For the woman's strength was going from her; she was wearied and exhausted, and she had to struggle now with nature. It was fortunate for her that the man and the woman she was following were walking slowly, or she must inevitably have lost them. And even as it was, she dragged her weary feet after them, as one in a dream might have done.
The woman was young; joyous health and spirits proclaimed themselves in the light springy step; and the musical laugh that rang frequently in the air was like the sound of silver bells. That she was beautiful could not be doubted: it was the theme of their conversation at the present moment.
"And you think me very beautiful?"
"You are more than beautiful. You are the most lovely girl in the world. But if I continue to tell you the same story, I shall make you the vainest as well as the loveliest."
"Oh, no; I like to hear you. Go on."
"Then there's another danger. Though you know I love you----"
"Yes."
"And though you have told me you love me----"
"Yes."
"You do, you little witch?"