“I am happy, Fräulein Barton,” he began with a self-satisfied air, “to have this opportunity of speaking with you alone.” He cast an ardent, admiring glance on what he could see of her face. “Indeed, Fräulein, I have been wishing for it ever since I had the good fortune to make your acquaintance.”
Helène quickened her step—they were nearing the main street.
“I am one of the richest men in the Faubourg,” he went on, and this time with a distinct note of pride in his tones. “I am a good-natured fellow, in the prime of life and sound as a thaler.”
Helène turned pale and increased her pace as she kept looking about her anxiously in the hope she would see some person she knew.
“But—I am a lonely man. I ask your permission to visit Herr and Frau Schreiber more frequently as a suitor for your heart and hand. May I so consider myself?”
Helène was utterly at her wit’s end what to answer. Her rapid steps had brought her to the turning of the street in which the Schreibers lived. She paused for breath for a moment and looked at Herr Kauffner with such surprise and frightened eyes that he stepped back a pace.
“I thank you for the honor you have paid me, Herr Kauffner,” she was able to say, “but it cannot be. Permit me to go home now alone.”
And without giving him time to answer, she almost ran down the street into the house. Once in the hall she did not pause, but walked quickly up the stairs, clinging to the balustrade for support and threw herself into a chair in her own room, overcome from exhaustion and fear. She had not dared to announce her return to Anna, as she usually did after her walks; she was afraid Anna might question her on seeing her distress.
For many minutes she sat trying to still the beating of her heart. The rush of blood to her head had made her dizzy. After a time she was able to get on her feet and bathe her face in cold water.
Then the humor of the situation took her, and she smiled. Poor man—he meant well. She had been rude to leave him so abruptly. What would Anna say? How could she tell her?