“Ah, I believe you want to flatter me,” said Fanny, closely scanning the small and slender figure and the pale face of the baron.
He bowed with a gentle smile, but did not raise his eyes toward her. Fanny could not help perceiving that his brow was slightly clouded.
“Baron,” she said, “I have begged you to come and see me, because I do not want to go to the altar with a lie on my soul. I will not deceive God and yourself, and therefore I now tell you, frankly and sincerely, I do not love you, baron; only my father’s will gives my hand to you!”
There was no perceptible change in the young baron’s face. He seemed neither surprised nor offended.
“Do you love another man?” he asked quietly.
“No, I love no one!” exclaimed Fanny.
“Ah, then, you are fortunate indeed,” he said, gloomily. “It is by far easier to marry with a cold heart, than to do so with a broken one; for the cold heart may grow warm, but the broken one never.”
Fanny’s eyes were fixed steadfastly on his features.
“Mr. Arnstein,” she exclaimed, impetuously, “you do not love me either!”
He forced himself to smile. “Who could see you—you, the proud, glorious beauty—without falling in love with you?” he exclaimed, emphatically.