Herr von Stielow slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"It shall not be at an end," she cried in trembling excitement, "because I love you, because I cannot leave you, because you cannot be happy with that woman, to whom you will give your name, but whose cold heart will never feel for you the fiery glow that streams through mine."
"Madam, you go too far," said Stielow, and an expression of repugnance and contempt appeared upon his face.
"You deceive yourself," she said, whilst her lips burned a rich carmine and her feverish eyes lighted up her pale face. "I know how warmly your heart has beaten for me, it cannot be happy in a conventional love, in lukewarm kisses meted out by custom."
He half turned from her.
"You go too far," he said again.
"Hear me, my own, my love," and she sank down at his feet stretching out her arms towards him; "hear me, and do not despise me, I cannot live without you. Give your hand," she cried in a voice full of passion, "to that woman, give her your name, but leave me your heart: the time will come when you will long for happiness, then come back to me, to dream, to love; I ask for nothing,--nothing, I will wait humbly, I will live upon the remembrance of the quiet happiness of the past during the long days when I do not see you,--do all that you will,--only love me."
She seized his hand and pressed it to her glowing lips, then her head fell back a little, her half-closed eyes looked at him imploringly, the warm breath from her mouth seemed to surround him with an enchanted atmosphere of love and passion.
A slight shudder passed through him; he closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he looked at her with calm friendship, and holding her hand firmly he gently raised her.