"It is you I love," she said.
The hall door opened above. She tore herself from him and hurried up the stairs.
IV
It was getting on for morning; day dawned, a purple, quivering September morning.
There was a gentle murmur among the poplars in the garden. A window was thrown open, a man leaned out of it humming. He had no coat on, he looked out upon the world like a dishevelled maniac who had been drinking himself drunk in happiness all night.
He suddenly turned away from the window and looked towards his door; somebody had knocked. He called: "Come In!" A man entered.
"Good-morning," he greeted the visitor.
It was an elderly man, he was pale with fury and carried a lamp in his hand as it was not yet full daylight.
"I put it to you once more, Mr. Miller, Mr. Johannes Miller, do you call this reasonable behaviour?" the man stammered with indignation.