He had heard her coming down-stairs, and wanted to see her for a moment, as a feeling of self-reproach overmastered him. He approached her unawares, softly, on the tips of his slippered feet. He took her gently by the arms.
She felt frightened for a moment, and when she looked up she saw in his eyes that very tenderness for which she longed, and with a little smile in which there almost lurked something like fear, he asked her—
“Are you angry?”
Her eyes suddenly grew moist, and she nestled her head on his shoulder, and laid her arm round his neck, and shook her head.
“Really not?”
Again she shook her head, laughing amid her falling tears, and she closed her weeping eyes and felt his moustache on her lips as he kissed her. How quickly he repented when he had been unkind, and what a luxury it was to forgive him!
“Come, don’t cry then; it wasn’t so bad as all that.”
She gave a sigh of relief and clung closer to him.
“If only you are a little gentle and kind to me—oh, then I feel myself so—so strong, then I feel equal to anything.”
“Darling little woman!”