Herr von Stielow rose and walked towards his visitor with an expression of great surprise, whilst he dismissed the servant by a sign, and he, by shrugging his shoulders endeavoured to signify that he had not been able to announce this visitor to his master in the usual way. Scarcely had the door closed than the lady threw back her veil. Herr von Stielow beheld the beautiful features of Madame Balzer. She was pale, but her cheeks were tinged with a light rosy hue, her large eyes glowed with deep passionate fire, upon her slightly parted lips lay an expression of bashful shame, mingled with a look of firm and energetic decision. She was wonderfully beautiful, more charming in this plain, almost grisette-like toilette, than in the rich and recherché elegance which usually surrounded her. The young man looked at the well-known face before him with blank amazement, almost with fear; for it was the last thing he expected to see. "Antonia!" he exclaimed in a low voice. "Your lips, then, have not forgotten that name," she said, fixing her sorrowful eyes upon him; "I feared that all, all remembrance, had vanished from your heart, even the name of her whom once you loved, and whom you now despise,--condemn unheard." Stielow was so amazed, so discomposed by this visit, that he still stood opposite to her without uttering a word: a flash of anger, of defiance had shone in his eyes, but it had disappeared--how could anger be maintained against this gentle humility, this look so full of entreaty and of sorrow? He gazed at her vacantly, contradictory feelings struggling in his breast. "You have condemned me," she continued in that soft melting voice, only bestowed upon a few women, and which touches the heart of the listener like a caress, "you have turned from me without asking a word of explanation, and yet you loved me once, and yet," she whispered hesitatingly, as she cast down her eyes, and a rosy blush passed over her face, "yet, you must have known that I loved you!" Herr von Stielow still found not a word to oppose to these looks, this language; he almost felt he was really hard and cruel, and it needed the full recollection of the evening before, to enable him to maintain calm composure before this woman. Antonia came one step nearer, and fixed her eyes upon him, with a melancholy expression of unutterable tenderness. "My love," she said in her soft voice, "was as pure, as confiding as a young maiden's, yet fiery and glowing as the wine of the south, and it filled my whole soul, it had enchained my pride. I lay at your feet, as a slave at the feet of her lord!" Tears glittered in her lovely eyes. "I beg you--" said von Stielow, feeling quite distracted. "Why these declarations about the past, now? Why this painful scene?"