She cast down her eyes again and said with a slight vibration in her voice:

"You are at liberty to do what you like."

"Of course," he replied, "and I shall act with great prudence and avoid all scandal. I am sure it will be very interesting to Herr von Stielow to compare the exercises of style which, he receives from the lady of his heart, with those she sends at the same time to earlier and absent friends."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly. She raised her head from the crimson cushion and gazed full at her husband.

"I mean," he replied brutally, "that I shall send Herr von Stielow one of Count Rivero's letters to you, and your answer. Though husbands are sometimes indifferent to these little eccentricities, lovers are apt to be more punctilious."

She pressed the rosy nails into her tender hands, and looked thoughtfully before her for a moment.

"Where are the letters of which you speak?" she asked coldly.

"Quite safe," he replied laconically.

"I do not believe you; how came you by a letter from me to the Count?"

"You were in the act of answering him. His letter and your reply lay on the table, when you had hastily to receive your dear Stielow, and you threw your shawl over them. You forgot them, and when I paid my dear wife a visit, I took them that they might not fall into improper hands." He said this with a scornful laugh.

"In fact, you stole them?" she said contemptuously.

"We are discussing the seventh commandment, not the eighth," he said rudely.

"I must pay for my carelessness," she muttered to herself. Then raising her eyes, with icy coldness she said:--

"You shall have the twelve hundred gulden to-morrow morning in exchange for the stolen letters."

"I will be here punctually at the same hour to-morrow," he replied in a satisfied tone. "Has my charming wife any other commands?"

She raised a finger and pointed to the door.

At the same moment a bell was heard.

"Herr von Stielow!" exclaimed the waiting-maid as she entered. The clatter of a sword was heard in the ante-room.

"A good business and much pleasure!" cried Herr Balzer, as he departed by a side door.

Scarcely had he left the room, when the young lady's expression changed as if by magic. All the hard sharp lines, which had caused her face during her conversation with her husband to look like a beautiful waxen mask, disappeared, the clenched teeth were parted, and the eyes gained a magnetic brilliance, which gave them a magical charm.

She half rose and stretched out her arms.

Herr von Stielow, fresh, bold, and elegant as ever, hastened to her; he seemed for a moment dazzled by her beauty, then he bent over her and pressed his lips upon her mouth.

She wound her arms around his neck, and breathed rather than said, "My sweet friend!"

After a long embrace he drew a low chair towards the couch on which she lay, so that their heads were on the same level. She altered her position with a slight graceful movement and placed her head upon his shoulder, then taking his right hand in both her own she pressed it to her heart. Whilst her gentle snakelike movements took her nearer and nearer to him, she closed her eyes and murmured:--

"Ah! how happy I am!"

The two beautiful and graceful young creatures formed an exquisite and poetic picture; with all their trembling pa.s.sion there was no sign of vulgar or ign.o.ble feeling,--it seemed a picture of a pure and happy love.

The face of the beautiful woman showed no trace of the scene she had just taken part in, in that very room, and no one could have thought, had they looked at the young man as he pressed his lips against the perfumed hair of the head resting on his shoulder, that notwithstanding the enchanted mist that surrounded him, a purer star was shining ever brighter for his heart.

It was a picture of the present, of a happy fleeting moment, enjoyed without a thought of what went before, of what must follow.

A deep sigh heaved her breast and trembled through her form as she leant against her lover.

"Why do you sigh? my sweet Tonia. What happiness is wanting to her who is created to give happiness?"

"Oh! my beloved," she said, and a second sigh trembled from her lips, "I am not always so happy as now, when I rest on your breast, and just before--" she hesitated.

"What happened just before?" he asked, "to make those lovely lips twice sigh, though formed only for smiles and kisses?"

And he slightly raised her head and pressed his lips to hers.

"My husband was here," she said, sighing the third time.

"Ah!" he said, "and what did the fellow want who calls such a flower his own, and knows not how to enjoy its fragrance?"

"For him it never shall be fragrant," she said with a vibration in her voice, which recalled the previous scene. "He tormented me," she continued, "with reproofs--with jealousy."

She stammered, then she raised the beautiful head from his shoulder, slipped back a little and replaced it on her crimson cushion, but she still retained his hand.

"Before," she said, "when he used to reproach me, and act Oth.e.l.lo, because this or that gentleman looked at me too often, or another had smiled when he saw me, I was quite indifferent; I despised it all, and answered without my heart beating faster, or my eyes being cast down, but now," she added, tears coming to the eyes she rested on him, and the rosy ribbons on her breast rising and falling quickly from her emotion, "now I tremble; I wish to hide my eyes with a thick veil; my heart beats fast, as the blood throbs through my veins, for--"

Again she throw herself into his arms, leant her head as if exhausted on his breast and whispered,

"For now I love!"

He bent over her and pressed her to himself.

"And do you repent it?"

"No," she replied pa.s.sionately; "but it humbles me when I remember that he is still my husband, on whom I am dependent--dependent," she stammered, in a low voice, "in all material things; and he makes me feel this dependence--feel it bitterly."

"And why," ho interrupted, "should you be dependent upon him? Why remember such dependence for a moment? Have you not a friend, a slave, who would be too happy if you would but tell him what you want, all that you wish?"

"Ah! I want so little; but he denies me everything!" she said.

"Poor Tonia!" he cried; "is it possible those lips have ever framed a wish in vain?"

He put her hand to his lips.

"What was it, what did he deny you?"

"Oh!" she cried sadly, "that I should profane the sweet hours of our love--leave it--it is already forgotten!" and she sighed again.

"It cannot be forgotten until you have told me. I beg you, if you love me, tell me what vexes you, that this melancholy may all be driven away."