"As chance has so ordained it, that we are alone, hear then, dear Olga, hear what it is that I have had so long at heart."
A turbulent gust of wind swept through the top loose piles of snow and whirled them about so that Romeo and Juliet must simultaneously wipe the snow out of their eyes.
"I love you, Olga!"
Olga started back in alarm, making the little bells on her fur rug tinkle; it is true it was sweet alarm, but she was not prepared for a declaration of love with the thermometer so low. Wegen waited for the result, while alternately stamping his feet and beating himself with his arms, so as to impart some warmth to his body.
"Yes, I have always loved you, that is to say," added he in his love of truth, "after Cäcilie--but you know it? Why waste so many words? My breath freezes upon my lips, but my heart is all the warmer. Will you belong to me for ever?"
Olga drew one hand out of her muff and extended it as if in protestation:
"So suddenly, dear friend? And here in the snow?"
"Here we are undisturbed."
"Then it was base treachery?"
"Yes, I will confess it, my compass would not have failed me, but to be able to say to you at last what fills my whole--"