"Did you tell him I was at home?"
"No; I said I would see. When her Excellency is away I never say anything decided," replied the maid.
The old Countess had gone out a little while before, to pay a short visit in the neighbourhood; Lüdecke had accompanied her.
Erika hesitated a moment, then turned up the electric light and told Marianne to show in the visitor. Immediately afterwards he entered, and she arose to receive him. She was startled as she looked at his face, it was so pale and wan.
"Are you ill?" she exclaimed; "or have you come to tell us of some misfortune that has befallen you?" The sympathy expressed in her tone agitated him still further.
"Neither is the case," he replied, trying to assume an easy air. "I came only to----" There he paused. Why had he come? The thought that she might entertain a warmer sentiment for him--a thought that had occurred to him to-day for the first time--would not be banished. He had dragged the sweet, racking uncertainty about with him for an hour through the loneliest streets of Venice, without being able to rid himself of it. He would see her,--would have certainty; and then----
Ah, he could not gain that certainty: he could only long for her.
He had invented some explanation of his visit, but he could not remember it; instead he said, "You are very kind to receive me in Countess Lenzdorff's absence, and I will show my appreciation of your kindness by making my visit a short one."
"On the contrary," she rejoined, "I hope you will spend the evening with us. My grandmother will be here in a few minutes, and will be very glad to find you here."
How soft and sweet her voice was! Could it be--could it be----?