"What is it, Anna? Something is troubling you, and you won't tell me what it is. My poor friend! You have come here with an anguish in your heart, wishing to escape from it; you have come here to weep; and I have behaved like a brute, a blackguard."
"No, you are good, I shall remember you," and she gave him her hand.
"Don't go away. Tell me first what it is. Tell me what you came for. Tell me, dearest Anna."
"It's too long a story, too long," she said, as if in a dream, passing her hand over her brow. "And now I must go, I must go."
"No, stop here, talk to me, weep. It will do you good."
"I can't."
"Why?"
"My minutes are numbered. You'll understand some day—to-morrow. Now I must go."
"Anna, how can I let you go like this? You have come here to be comforted, and I have treated you shamefully. Forgive me."