there, a suppliant in bitter anguish of soul, a criminal who still could
not understand that he was one, and who relied on the confidence that,
only yesterday, he still had had the right to exact from all the world.
He appeared before her like a fine proud tree struck by lightning, whose
riven trunk, trembling to its fall, must be crushed to the earth by the
first storm, unless the gardener props it up. She longed to be able to
forget all he had brought upon her and to grasp his hand in friendly
consolation; but her deeply aggrieved pride helped her to preserve the
cold and repellent manner she had so far succeeded in assuming.

With much hesitation and reserve she consented to be silent as long as
he kept his promise. It was for his father's sake, rather than his own,
that she would so far become his accomplice: at the same time everything
else was at an end between them, and she should bless the hour which
might see her severed from him and his for ever.

The end of her speech was in a strangely hard and repellent tone; she
felt she must adopt it to disguise how deeply she was touched by his
unhappiness and by the extinction of the sunshine in him which had once
warmed her own heart too with bliss. To him it seemed that an icy rigor
breathed in her words--bitter contempt and hostile revulsion. He had
some difficulty in keeping himself from breaking out again in violent
wrath. He was almost sorry that he had trusted her with his secret and
begged her for mercy, instead of leaving things to run their course, and
if it had come to the worst, dragging her to perdition with him. Sooner
would he forfeit honor and peace than humble himself again before this
pitiless and cold-hearted foe. At this moment he really hated her, and
only wished it were possible to fight her, to break her pride, to see her
vanquished and crying for quarter at his feet. It was with a great
effort--with tingling cheeks and constrained utterance that he said: