"I? Who told you so?" she replied, with a tired smile, as she sank into an easy-chair.
"Minna told me."
Instead of answering, she lifted her eyebrows languidly, and stretched out a limp hand for a cushion to support her neck. She must have just been scenting herself, for her person exhaled the opoponax perfume more overpoweringly than ever.
Leo felt signs already of the enervating stupefaction which always took possession of his brain in this atmosphere. It began like a slight pressure on the temples, spreading to his forehead, and finally encompassing his whole head with iron spans.
Felicitas buried her face in the hollow of her supporting arm and remained motionless.
"Good God! What ails you?" he demanded.
She raised her head slightly, and smiled at him hopelessly.
"What ails me, Leo? I wish that I had never been born. That's all."
"A pious wish, at least," he answered, with an unsuccessful attempt to sneer. "Now tell me frankly, Lizzie," he exhorted, "why do you rave against yourself like this? There is no sense in it. Tell me--why?"
"Because I am learning to repent."