But no one ever would. A burning desire to be soothed and comforted, even as the poor little sinner in the next room was being comforted, rose within her. "She has her mother!" she moaned, bursting into tears, "but I haven't anyone."
Konrad bent over her and drew her hands from her face. In his sorrowful eyes a radiance dawned, so dear, so full of unspeakable loving-kindness, that he was quite transfigured, and seemed like a visitant from another world.
"Haven't you got me?" he asked.
"Yes, but you can't help me now," she said. "How can you endure me any longer?"
In the next room all was still again. Now the girl's mother must also be aware that he was entertaining a belated guest.
"Listen," he whispered, with his lips close to her ear. "We mustn't talk much, and my head's going round; but there's one thing that seems quite clear to me, and that is, the absurdity of everything that we call guilt and sin when two people love each other ... and when one of them has suffered like you. To me you have always been an angel, and an angel you shall continue to be in the future."
"In the future?" she stammered, listening eagerly. "Is there any future?"
He wiped his forehead, which was damp from perspiration.
"I don't know yet," he said. "I only know that I cannot live without you."
She closed her eyes. She wanted the dream to last.