"Pardon me, countess," said he, tenderly, "I have startled you. It was wrong of me to send away your maid, and to present myself unannounced. In my selfishness, I would not wait for form, and forgot that my visit was totally unexpected. Say that you forgive me; let me read my pardon in your heavenly eyes. "
Slowly Therese raised her head, and tried to speak. She longed to say that she had nothing to forgive; but had not the courage to meet the glances of those eyes which were fixed upon her with an expression of passionate entreaty, and seemed to be gazing into her heart, reading its most cherished, most consecrated secrets.
Did he understand the language of her agitation? "Look at me, Therese," whispered he." It is an eternity since we met, and now—one more look at your angel-face, for I come to bid adieu to it forever."
She started, repeating his words, "Bid adieu—adieu!"
"Yes, sweet one, adieu. Some wiseacre has guessed the secret which I had fondly imagined was known to God and to myself only. And yet, Therese, I have never even told myself how passionately I love you! My eyes must have betrayed me to others; for since that happy day at Sclionbrunn when I kissed the rose which had dropped from your hair, you have not been seen at court. I never should have told you this, my best beloved, but the anguish of this hour has wrung the confession from me. It will die away from your memory like the tones of a strange melody, and be lost in the jubilant harmony of your happy married life."
He turned away that she might not see the tears which had gathered in his eyes and were ready to fall. As for Therese, she rose to her feet. For one moment, her heart stood still—the next, her blood was coursing so wildly through her veins that she thought he must surely hear its mad throbbings in the stillness of that little room. The emperor turned again, and his face was grave, but calm. He had mastered his emotion, and, ashamed of the weakness of the avowal he had made, he determined to atone for it. He took the hand of the countess and led her to a divan, where he gently drew her down, while she obeyed, as though her will had suddenly been merged into his. She was conscious of one thing only. He was there!—he whose name was written upon her heart, though she had never uttered it until that day!
He stood before her with folded arms, and contemplated her as an enthusiast might look upon the statue of a saint.
"Therese," said he, after a long silence, "why did you say that you would go into a convent?"
Therese grew pale and shivered, but said nothing. Joseph, bending down and looking into her eyes, repeated his question.
"Because my father wishes me to marry a man whom I do not love," replied Therese, with a candor which yielded to the magic of his glance as the rose gives her heart's sweet perfume to the wooing of the summer breeze.