Her face was still down, but it had now a new expression of joy.
“There is one thing you can do, but it is difficult.”
“No matter! Tell me what it is.”
“I thought when I came here … but it is no matter.”
“Tell me, I beg of you.”
He was trying to look into her face again, and she was eluding his gaze as before, but now for another, a sweeter reason.
“I thought if—if you would come to my house when my friends are there, your presence as my guest, in the midst of those in whose eyes you have injured me, might be sufficient of itself to wipe out everything. But …”
She waited for his answer with a beating heart, but at first he did not speak, and pretending to put away the idea, she said:
“But that is impossible: I cannot ask it. I know what it would mean. Such people are pitiless—they have no mercy.”
“Is that all?” he said.