At this last word, which thrilled through us both like an electric shock, we looked for some time into each other’s eyes, and found that one can kiss even with looks.
He spoke first. “Since when?” I understood the unfinished question well enough.
“Since that dinner at my father’s,” I replied. “And you?”
“You? That you[6] does not suit, Martha. If I am to answer the question it must be put in a different form.”
“Well? and thou?”
“I? Just since the same evening. But it was not so clear and decided to me till at the deathbed of my poor mother. With what longing did my thoughts turn to you!”
“Yes, that I understood. But you, on the contrary, did not understand what the red rose meant which was wound in among the white flowers of death, or else, when you came here, you would not have so avoided me. I do not yet comprehend the reason of this holding off, and why you wanted to go away!”
“Because my thoughts never rose to the hope that I could win you. It was not till you ordered me, by the memory of my mother—ordered me to come to you, and to remain near you—that I understood that you were favourably disposed to me, that I might dedicate my life to you.”
“So if I had not myself ‘thrown myself at your head,’ as the French say, you would not have troubled yourself about me?”
“You have a great many admirers. I could not mix myself up among these swarms.”