"I think I lost myself long ago," she whispered, shuddering.
He laughed out loud. "You, noblest, tenderest, best of women!"
She knew how undeserved it all was, yet how sweet it was to hear him say it!
They were now walking so close to each other that their cheeks nearly touched. She closed her eyes, drinking in the warm breath of the strong life beside her. She felt that without volition she was being carried away to unknown blissful regions. She only came to herself when they stood before her door.
"When?" he asked.
To-morrow she was not free. She had been invited out.
The day after to-morrow?
Yes, the day after to-morrow she would have the whole evening. He might call for her.
Then, in fear that if she lingered she would say that she could see him to-morrow, she ran upstairs and hid her joy in the solitude of her rooms. She did not turn on the lights; the reflection of the street-lamps playing on the walls and the prisms of the chandelier was light enough.
Then she began to roam through the open doors, from room to room, into the corner where the bed stood, round the dining-table, across the corner drawing-room into the cold guest-chamber where no guest had ever been, up and down, up and down, singing, weeping, exulting. And then out of her tears, her humming and rejoicing, words came suddenly: