Frau Lenore did in fact appear in the doorway leading from the house
to the garden. She was in an agony of impatience; she could not
keep still. According to her calculations, Sanin must long ago have
finished all he had to say to Gemma, though his conversation with her
had not lasted a quarter of an hour.

'No, no, no, for God's sake, don't tell her anything yet,' Sanin
articulated hurriedly, almost in alarm. 'Wait a little ... I will tell
you, I will write to you ... and till then don't decide on anything
... wait!'

He pressed Gemma's hand, jumped up from the seat, and to Frau Lenore's
great amazement, rushed past her, and raising his hat, muttered
something unintelligible--and vanished.

She went up to her daughter.

'Tell me, please, Gemma...'

The latter suddenly got up and hugged her. 'Dear mamma, can you wait a
little, a tiny bit ... till to-morrow? Can you? And till to-morrow not
a word?... Ah!...'

She burst into sudden happy tears, incomprehensible to herself. This
surprised Frau Lenore, the more as the expression of Gemma's face was
far from sorrowful,--rather joyful in fact.

'What is it?' she asked. 'You never cry and here, all at once ...'