She came near him, put one hand on his shoulder, and the other she put round his neck.
'Ah! this life!' she whispered, 'one must be drunk in order to bear it.'
'And be a cheat!' added Watzdorf, who seized her hand and kissed it passionately. 'Frances, you don't love me; you love the life more than me; the world and the golden fetters.'
The girl was silent and sad.
'Who knows?' she said. 'I don't know myself. They brought me up, cradling me in falsehood and teaching me how to lie, in the meanwhile arousing in me a desire for sensation, distraction, luxury and enjoyment. I am not certain of my own heart, for I was corrupted before I began to live.'
'Love ought to make us both better,' said Watzdorf looking into her eyes passionately. 'I was also a courtier before I loved you--by that love I became a man; I became purified in its flames.'
The girl laid her head on his shoulder and spoke to him in a whisper; they both seemed to forget about the whole world. Their eyes spoke more than their lips; their hands met and joined.
They forgot themselves to such a degree that they did not notice that the same door by which Watzdorf had entered opened, and the threatening, pale and angry face of the girl's mother appeared through it.
Seeing her daughter with a man whom she did not recognise at once, she was struck dumb. She made a step forward and pulled Watzdorf by his sleeve. Her lips trembled and her eyes were full of awful anger; the girl turned and perceived the thunder-bolt look of her mother. But she was not afraid. She retreated a step, while Watzdorf not knowing yet who had disturbed them, mechanically searched for his sword.
Only when he turned and saw the Countess did he become pale and stood silent like a criminal caught red-handed in the act.