Mathilde poured out a cup, and Frédérique took it up-stairs. On the stairs she wondered whether she would have the courage; perhaps Otto would say something himself; but if he did not, she would venture.
She entered Otto’s room. He was walking up and down dreamily, with his hands on his back, quite contrary to his usual habits.
“Hallo! there’s a nice little sis,” said he laughing, and took the cup from her hand. “It will taste tenfold as nice from such pretty little fingers.”
“But, Otto,” cried Frédérique, “how can you be so silly? I had expected a more original kind of compliment, not such a stale platitude as that.”
She continued to look at him smilingly, but did not catch his reply, as she was considering to herself how to put her question. Perhaps he would not like it. Still she wanted to have her say, and she tried to find something by way of introduction, some pretext or another, to achieve her object; but in the frankness of [[104]]her nature she could find nothing, and so she simply commenced—
“Otto, I—I have something to say to you, something to confess.”
“A sin?”
“A sin, no; hardly that I think—an—indiscretion I unwittingly committed towards you. But you must forgive me beforehand.”
“What! simply on your good faith?”
“I tell you the indiscretion was committed involuntarily, and—I haven’t even been as indiscreet as I should have liked to have been. I am therefore entitled to some recompense; but I only ask you beforehand, whether I may depend upon your pardon?”