perhaps told one another more in this single second than during the
whole time of their long tete-a-tete.




VI

THE OUTRAGE


When Heideck stepped into the garden he was scarcely able to find his
way, but having taken a few steps his eyes had become accustomed to the
gloom, and the pale light of the stars showed him his path.

The garden was surrounded by an impenetrable hedge of cactus plants,
low enough to allow a tall man to look over. On having closed the
wooden gate behind him, Heideck stood and gazed back at the brightly
illuminated windows of the house. In the presence of the charming woman
he had manfully suppressed his feelings. No rash word, betraying the
tempest that this nocturnal conversation had left surging in his bosom,
had escaped his lips. He had not for a moment forgotten that she was the
wife of another, and it would be an infamy to covet her for his wife
so long as she was tied to that other. But he could not disguise from
himself the fact that he yearned towards her with a passionate love. He
was to-day, for the first time, conscious that he loved this woman
with a passion that he had never before felt for another; but there
was nothing intoxicating or pleasurable in this self-confession. It was
rather a feeling of apprehension of coming difficulties and struggles
that would beset him in his passion for this charming creature. Had she