"You weep. Liebchen, is it for me?"
She did not answer, but laid a hand gently on his head and looked at him, with all the pent yearning of her full heart, all the agony of that long, weary struggle, and all the pathos of defeat in her eyes. It was no use. At that moment it seemed that there was nothing else in the world but him. Everything else was remote, dim, and unreal.
He clasped her with a fierce, exultant joy.
"You love me in spite of dis?" he asked, looking down at his coarse attire. "You love me in spite of dat I am your nigga?"
"In spite of all," she faltered.
It was out at last: the crest of victory sank in inglorious surrender. Her humiliation was his triumph.
He looked at her with a face radiant, shining with a beauty not of earth.
"Liebchen," he whispered, "it is divine."
"You vill gome mit me to mein gountry?" he asked presently.