She had never contemplated
anything so frightful, but her mad love had carried her away; so
now she was where she deserved to be.
Rafael did not answer, for he could not collect his thoughts. She
sat at a table, her face buried in her hands, but his eye fell on
her strong arms in the close-fitting sleeves, her little foot
thrust from beneath her dress; he saw how her whole frame was
shaken by sobs. Nevertheless, what first made him collect his
thoughts was not sympathy with her who was here before him; it was
the thought of Helene, of the Dean, of his mother: what would THEY
say?
As though she were conscious whither his thoughts had flown, she
raised her head. "Will you really go away from me?" What despair
was in her face! The strong woman was weaker than a child.
He stood erect before her, beside his open trunk. He, too, was
absolutely miserable.
"What good will it do for me to stay here?" he asked gently.
Her eyes fixed themselves on him, dilating, becoming clearer every
moment. Her mouth grew scornful. She seemed to grow taller every
moment.
"You will marry me if you are an honourable man!"
"Marry--you?" he exclaimed, first startled, then disdainful.
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