"Oh, yes, I hear," she said at last. "I hear how ready you are with promises you know you will not be asked to keep. But the small, everyday things—those are what you won't do for me."
"Tell me ... tell me what I shall do!"
"All I ask of you is to be happy. And to let me be happy, too."
He stammered promises and entreaties. Never, never again!—if only this once she would forgive him; if only she would smile at him, and let the light come back to her eyes. He had not been responsible for his actions this evening.
"It was more of a strain than I knew. And after it was over, I had to vent my disappointment somehow; and it was you, poor darling, who suffered. Forgive me, Louise!—But try, dear, a little to understand why it was. Can't you see that I was only like that through fear—yes, fear!—that somehow you might slip from me. I can't help feeling, one day you will have had enough of me, and will see me for what I really am."
He tried to put his arms round her, but she held back: she had no desire to be reconciled. The sole response she made to his beseeching words was: "I want to be happy."
"But you shall.—Do you think I live for anything else? Only forgive me! Remember the happiest hours we have spent together. Come back to me; be mine again! Tell me I am forgiven."
He was in despair; he could not get at her, under her coating of insensibility. And since his words had no power to move her, he took to kissing her hands. She left them limply in his; she did not resist him. From this, he drew courage: he began to treat her more inconsiderately, compelling her to bend down to him, making her feel his strength; and he did not cease his efforts till her head had sunk forward, heavy and submissive, on his shoulder.
They were at peace again: and the joys of reconciliation seemed almost worth the price they had paid for them.