CHAPTER XXII.
Erika was sitting by the window in her boudoir. Although outside the night had not yet fallen upon the earth, it was too dark to read. Her window looked out upon the hotel-garden,--which at this season of the year was like one huge bed of roses intersected by a narrow gravel path. The sweet breath of the roses was wafted in at the window, but with it there mingled always the sickening odour of the lagoon.
A couple of distant clocks were striking the hour, and the water was lapping the feet of the old palaces.
Lost in thought the girl sat there. The mission in life for which she had so yearned was revealed to her in the noblest, most attractive form.
She could not doubt that Lozoncyi loved her. Mistrustful as she usually was concerning the sentiments she was wont to arouse, there could be no uncertainty in this case.
The future lay before her bright and alluring. How could she have despaired in this wonderful life of ours? She seemed to have always known that she was foreordained for some special service.
Why had he never yet made a direct confession of his sentiments? Her pride replied to this question, "He dare not venture."
It was for her to take one step to meet him. Reserved as she was, the mere thought of so doing sent the blood to her cheeks, but she took herself sternly to task, admonishing herself that cowardice on her part would be paltry in the extreme.
It would surely be possible to allow him to read her heart, without any indelicate frankness on her part.
Thus far her thoughts had led her, when Marianne brought her a card: "Herr von Lozoncyi."