The air was moist and sultry, clouds hung low, a swallow fluttered anxiously across the square. In comparison with the dusky gloom of the church it was still quite light here. Gesa raised questioning, longing eyes to the face of his beloved. It was deathly pale, the cheek thinner, the eyes larger, the lips darker than formerly; little lines about the mouth and nose, melancholy shadows around the eyes idealized its heretofore purely material beauty.
"I had quite forgotten how charming thou art," he murmured, in a voice stifled with passion. She smiled at him, a wild strange smile, in which she grew still more beautiful, and the shadows around her eyes deepened.
It suddenly seemed to him that she reminded him of some one, of something, but he searched his soul in vain. It could not be of the pale Malmaison roses whose tender heads drooped, on the pavement,--or,--no,--and yet--yes,--a little,--Annette reminded him of Guiseppina!
Her hand, which she had left to him passively in the beginning, nestled now more tenderly on his arm. When they would have turned their steps toward the Rue Ravestein, she held him back.
"What if we should make a detour," she whispered, "take me to the park, to all your favorite places, will you?"
"My heart! My treasure!" he murmured, drunk with the rapture of her presence.
An odor of withering flowers impregnated the air, mixed with the faint breath of fresh acacia blossoms. They entered the park. It was as if dead. Through the dark crowns of the trees there passed, from time to time, something like a shudder of fear.
"And you are really ill, Annette?" he asked.
"Yes," and her voice sounded hollow, like a suppressed cry of anguish: then she burst out passionately, "Why did you leave me alone!"
"You sent me away yourself," he replied, half playfully, "and then I had to go."