She gently tried to loose his clenched fingers, which gradually yielded till the open hand lay soft and unresisting in her own. "Look at me," she continued in her sweet, melting tones: "look at my pallid face, my eyes reddened with weeping--and then answer whether I have suffered during these hours?"
"I do see it!" said Freyer, gently.
"Dear husband! I come to you with my great need, with my great love--and my great guilt. Will you thrust me from you?"
He could hold out no longer, but with loving generosity clasped the pleading woman to his heart.
"I knew it, you are the embodiment of goodness, gentleness--love! You will have patience with your weak, sinful wife--you will ennoble and sanctify her, and not despair if it is a long time ere the work is completed. You promise, do you not?" she murmured fervently amid her kisses, breathing into his inmost life the ardent pleading of her remorse.
And, with a solemn vow, he promised never to be angry with her again, never to desert her until she herself sent him away.
She had conquered--he trusted her once more. And now--she must profit by this childlike confidence.
"I thank you!" she said, after a long silence. "Now I shall have courage to ask you a serious question. But let us send home the friend who is waiting outside, you can take me back yourself."
"Certainly, my child," said Freyer, smiling, and went out to seek Ludwig. "He was satisfied," he said returning. "Now speak--and tell me everything that weighs upon your heart--no one can hear us save God." And he drew her into a loving embrace.
"Joseph," the countess began in an embarrassed tone. "The decisive hour has come sooner than I expected and I am compelled to ask, 'Will you be my husband--but only before God, not men.'"