He passively allowed her to remain there. What to do? what to say? he asked himself, distracted.
“Oh, Elias—my darling—I—I knew it could not be true,” she was murmuring between her sobs.
Thus, until her grief had spent itself—until she had had her cry out. By and by she raised her eyes to his, and smiling a forlorn little smile, asked timidly, “You think I am very silly?”
But her smile did not last long. Suddenly, it changed to an expression of utmost woe and terror. She fell back a step or two.
“Elias!” she cried, in a sharp, startled voice. “Why do you look at me like that? Is—do—you can't—mean—that it is true!”
He felt that he must speak. He must gather his forces, and make her understand. He was trying to. He was trying to find the words he needed. But before they had come to him, the door opened, and the rabbi glided upon the scene.
The rabbi took in the situation at a glance.
“Elias,” he said, “this is unfortunate. You ought to have called me.”
Turning to Christine: “You have forgotten yourself, madam. By what right are you here? Did your father send you? I shall be happy to show you the way down stairs.”
He bowed in the direction of the door.