He tries, by gazing fixedly at her, to force her to look up at him, but he is unsuccessful, and then has recourse to another expedient. In his thin, reedy tenor voice he begins to warble "Salve dimora casta e pura" from Gounod's "Faust."
Then she looks round at him, but her face certainly does not express pleasure. She arises, leaves the skiff, and, passing her obtrusive admirer without a word, tries to turn into the shortest path leading to the castle. He walks beside her, however, and begins in a low voice: "Fräulein Olga, I have something to say to you."
"Tome?"
"Yes, I want to explain myself, to correct some false impressions of yours, to lay bare my heart before you."
He pauses after uttering this sentence, and she also stands still, her annoyance causing a choking sensation in her throat. She would fain let him know that she is not in the least interested in having his heart laid bare before her, but how can she do this without seeming cross or angry?
"You have hitherto entirely misunderstood me," he assures her. "Oh, Olga, why can you not lay aside your distrust of me?"
"Distrust?" she repeats, almost mechanically; "I am not aware of any distrust."
"Do not deny it," he persists, clasping his hands affectedly; "do not deny it. Your distrust of me is profound. It wounds me, it pains me, and--it pains you also!"
Olga can hardly believe her ears. She stares at him without speaking, in utter dismay, almost fearing that he has suddenly lost his wits.
"You must hear me," he continues, with theatric effect. "Your distrust must cease, the distrust which has hitherto prevented you from perceiving how genuine is the admiration I feel for you. Oh, you must see how I admire you!"