She made a gesture as if she were about to tear out the pages. In an instant he had sprung to her side and had seized firm hold of her hand. "Julie!" he cried, as if beside himself; "is it true--is it possible? Your thoughts were with me?--and in these pages--I beseech you, let me have but one look--only let me see one line, so that I shall not think that you have invented all this in order to give me comfort, and to relieve me from my shame--" "Shame!" she whispered. "But cannot you see that in spite of my thirty-one years I am trembling like a child detected in some naughtiness? Must I really read aloud to you out of this book what you--what you might long ago have guessed from my silence--if you had not been trembling so yourself?" The last words died away on her lips. The book slipped from her hands and fell on the carpet, where it lay without his bending to pick it up. A kind of stupor had come over him. He seized both her hands and clasped them so tightly that it pained her; but the pain did her good. His face was so near hers that she could see every muscle in it quiver; his eyes gleamed with a wild fire, like the gaze of a somnambulist. And yet she had no horror of him. She would gladly have stood so forever, and have felt her hands in his, and have encountered the power of his fixed gaze. It was only when she felt that her eyes were on the point of overflowing, and feared that he might misunderstand it, that she said softly, smilingly shaking her head: "Don't you believe me even yet?" Then at last he released her hands, threw his arms about her yielding figure, and pressed her wildly to his breast. A noise was heard in the front room; the old servant apparently wished to remind the visitor, by the rattling of plates and knives and forks, that dinner-time was something that must be respected. As if startled out of a dream, Jansen suddenly tore himself from Julie's arms. "Unhappy wretch that I am!" cried he, hoarsely, covering his face with his hands. "Oh, God! Where have I let myself be carried?" "You have only followed where our hearts had already led!" said Julie, with a happy smile, while her moist eyes sought his. "What is the matter with you, best and dearest friend?" she continued, anxiously, for he was about to seize his hat. "You are going--and now? What drives you away from me? Who--who can part us? What have I done that you again turn away from me? My best and dearest friend, I entreat you--" He struggled hard to answer; a dark red flush overspread his pale face. "Do not ask me now," he stammered; "this blessed hour--this inconceivable happiness--no--it must--it cannot be!--Forgive--forget--" At this moment the old servant opened the door; he cast a look at the visitor that could hardly be interpreted as an invitation to stay longer. Jansen stepped hastily up to the agitated and speechless girl. "You shall hear from me soon, everything. Forgive--and may you be forever blessed for this hour!"