"I still please my husband!" she said smiling, in reply to all entreaties to spare herself on account of her altered appearance.
"My dove!" Freyer said one evening, when Ludwig came for the night-watch: "Now I must show a husband's authority and command you to take some rest, you cannot go on in this way."
"Oh! never mind me--if I should die for you, what would it matter? Would it not be a just atonement?"
"No--that would be no atonement," he said tenderly, pushing back the light fringe of curls that shaded her brow, as if he wished to read her thoughts on it: "My child, you must live for me--that is your atonement. Do you think you would do anything good if you expiated your fault by death and said: 'There you have my life for yours, now we are quits, you have no farther claim upon me!' Would that be love, my dove?"
He drew her gently toward him: "Or would you prefer that we should be quits thus, and that I should desire no other expiation from you than your death?" She threw her arms around him, clasping him in a closer and closer embrace. There was no need of speech, the happy, blissful throbbing of her heart gave sufficient answer. He kissed her on the forehead: "Now sleep, beloved wife and rest--do it for my sake, that I may have a fresh, happy wife!"
She rose as obediently as a child, but it was hard for her, and she nodded longingly from the door as if a boundless, hopeless distance already divided them.
"Ludwig!" said Freyer, gazing after her in delight: "Ludwig, is this love?"
"Yes, by Heaven!" replied his friend, deeply moved: "Happy man, I would bear all your sorrows--for one hour like this!"
"Have you now forgiven what she did to me?"
"Yes, from my very soul!"