It was Emily.
"Hush!" she said, as Oswald rose with a suppressed cry of astonishment "Keep where you are! I saw you leave the salon; I followed you, because I wish to speak to you. I must do so. I shall not detain you long. I only ask one word--one single word--that is to decide my whole life. Do you love me? Yes or no?"
The young girl had seized Oswald's hand and held it with nervous violence. "Yes or no?" she repeated, in a tone of voice which betrayed but too clearly the intensity and madness of her passion.
But there was no echo to that voice in Oswald's heart; it remained closed, like the house of a man who has been robbed the night before.
"You mistake no doubt the person," he said, with cutting sarcasm. "My name is Oswald Stein; Baron Cloten is, as far as I know, somewhere in the house," and he tried to loosen his hand from that of the girl.
"Have I deserved that?" she said, in a voice almost stifled by tears, and let her arms sink in utter despair.
"The night is cool," said Oswald, rising; "the dew begins to fall; you will take cold in your light dress. May I have the honor to take you back to the house?"
"Oh my God! my God!" murmured Emily; "I cannot endure this! Oswald, do not treat me thus! How I have longed for this moment! How I have repeated to myself a thousand times all I would say to you. How I hoped you would again take me in your arms as ... oh God! what am I saying? Oswald, have pity on me! You cannot wish to punish my thoughtlessness of this evening so cruelly! I only wanted to tease you a little. I thought every moment you would come up and tell me,--but you did not come, and I had to keep up the comedy, bon gré, mal gré."
"Are you quite sure, Miss Emily, you are not playing comedy at this very moment?"
Emily made no reply. She sank with a groan upon the bench; she pressed her face in her hands, and sobbed as if her heart were breaking.