And that did not seem at all extraordinary. She laughed and beckoned to him.
“In here,” she cried. “Feel how warm. I’ll put more wood on that oven. It doesn’t matter, they’re all busy upstairs.”
She knelt down on the floor, and thrust the wood into the oven, laughing at her own wicked extravagance.
The Frau was forgotten, the stupid day was forgotten. Here was someone beside her laughing, too. They were together in the little warm room stealing Herr Lehmann’s wood. It seemed the most exciting adventure in the world. She wanted to go on laughing—or burst out crying—or—or—catch hold of the Young Man.
“What a fire,” she shrieked, stretching out her hands.
“Here’s a hand; pull up,” said the Young Man. “There, now, you’ll catch it to-morrow.”
They stood opposite to each other, hands still clinging. And again that strange tremor thrilled Sabina.
“Look here,” he said roughly, “are you a child, or are you playing at being one?”
“I—I—”
Laughter ceased. She looked up at him once, then down at the floor, and began breathing like a frightened little animal.