He laughs out loud. A wild, devil-may-care feeling of happiness has come over him.
"Oh you--you!" he cries, opening out his arms. "I shall have you yet." And with a fool-hardy leap he jumps on to the narrow main-beam, which, with its two slanting, roof-shaped sides, spans the river.
"Hans--for God's sake--Hans!"
He does not hear--beneath him is the foaming abyss--he has hard work to keep his balance--he moves forward--he trembles he sways--three more--two more steps only one more daring leap--he is over.
"Now run!" he cries, with a wild shout of glee.
But Trude does not stir. She stares in his direction, paralyzed with terror. Like a tiger he springs towards her--he encircles her with his arms--he presses her to him--she closes her eyes and breathes heavily--then he bends down and lays his hot and thirsting lips upon hers. She gives a loud moan--her body trembles feverishly in his embrace. Then he lets her glide down--his affrighted gaze travels around--has no one seen it? "No, no one!" And what if they have? May Martin's brother not kiss Martin's wife? Did not he himself once require it of him?
She opens her eyes as though awakening from a deep dream. Her eyes avoid his.
"That was not nice of you, Hans," she says softly, "you must never do that to me again!"
He does not answer and stoops to pick up the rose which has fallen from her bosom.
"Let me go home," she says, casting a frightened look around.