"I was foolish enough," said she, "to cross the fiord with Minna; we have been up the Falberg."
"Did you want to kill yourself?" cried he, with a lover's alarm.
"Do not be uneasy, my good Wilfrid, I took great care of your Minna."
Wilfrid struck the table violently with his hand, took a few steps towards the door with an exclamation of pain; then he came back and began to reproach her.
"Why so much noise if you suppose me to be suffering?" said Seraphita.
"I beg your pardon, forgive me," said he, kneeling down. "Speak harshly to me, require anything of me that your cruel woman's caprice may suggest to you as hardest to be endured, but, my beloved, do not doubt my love! You use Minna like a hatchet to hit me with again and again. Have some mercy!"
"Why speak thus, my friend, when you know that such words are useless?" she replied, looking at him with a gaze that became at last so soft that what Wilfrid saw was not Seraphita's eyes, but a fluid light shimmering like the last vibrations of a song full of Italian languor.
"Ah! anguish cannot kill!" cried he.
"Are you in pain?" said she, in a voice which produced on him the same effect as her look. "What can I do for you?"
"Love me, as I love you!"