"Ah--and did you regret it?"
"I wished at least to bid you farewell and thank you for all your kindness to my unhappy cousin Josepha!" he said evasively. "I neglected to do so yesterday, I was so embarrassed."
"You are not sincere with me, Herr Freyer!" said the countess, motioning to him to sit down. "This expression of thanks does not come from your heart, for you do not care what I do for Josepha. That is merely the pretext for coming to me--because you do not wish to confess what really brought you. Am I not right?"
"Countess!" said Freyer, completely disconcerted, as he tried to rise.
She gently laid her hand on his, detaining him. "Stay! Your standard is so rigid in everything--what is your view of truth?"
Freyer fixed his eyes on the floor.
"Is it true, when you say that you came to thank me for Josepha? Were you not drawn hither by the feeling that, of all the thousands of souls who pass you in the course of the summer, perhaps there is not one who could understand you and your task as I do?"
Freyer clasped his hands on his knees and silently bent his head.
"Perhaps you have not thought of me as I have thought of you, all day long, since our eyes met on the mountain, as though some higher power had pointed us out to each other."
Freyer remained silent, but as the full cup overflows at the slightest movement, tears again gushed from his eyes.