"Antonia," he said quietly, "I should be unworthy to wear a sword if I gave you any answer but this; let everything be forgotten and forgiven that belongs to the past, no other remembrance will abide with me but that of friendship, and if you need a friend, you will find one in me."
And he let go her hand after pressing it gently.
Was it the tone of his voice, was it the quiet pressure of his hand, that convinced her quick womanly perceptions that she had lost his love for ever? She stood motionless, the passionate tears left her eyes, a flash of hatred gleamed in her look, but she hastily concealed it beneath her downcast eyelids.
With a quiet movement she drew down her veil, and said in a voice that retained no traces of its former emotion:
"Farewell; may you be happy!"
She turned to the door.
Stielow accompanied her silently and gravely through the ante-room to the outer door of his apartments, which a servant hurried forwards to open.
She went out with hasty footsteps.
The young man returned and sank into an arm-chair as if exhausted.
"Was it real, or was it acting?" he whispered thoughtfully.