"Oh, Möllner," cried the beautiful woman, flushed with delight, "I would give all that I possess, and all that I am, for one such grateful glance from your eyes! I know what the injustice is of which you speak. You have hitherto despised me, and now you see that there is something in me worthy of admiration. Yes, I have lived wildly,--I have not heeded the restraints imposed upon woman by man, because I did not respect mankind. Now, now I acknowledge them, because at last I have found a human being whom I respect from the depths of my soul, and to whom I would gratefully commit the guidance of my life. I can give what is better than a few thousand roubles. I am capable of the sacrifice of myself! If I thought it would win me your esteem, I would throw away whip and rein. My hand should know only the needle. I would never mount horse again,--never rush from place to place, sipping the froth of this world's delights. I would never stir from this spot, but lie here, clasping your knees, a penitential Magdalene. My wealth I would cast at your feet, and lay aside all splendour that might charm other eyes than yours. All that I have to give, so ardently desired by others, should be yours. I should think it an act of mercy if you deigned to accept my gift. I know how I transgress all law and custom when I, a woman, thus offer myself to him whom I love,--but what would be a departure from womanly delicacy and reserve in others, is for me a return thither. It is not for me to wait proudly for such a man as you to bring me his heart. I am sunk so low that in remorseful humiliation I must sue for esteem and love, try to deserve them by the penitence of a lifetime, and not murmur if they are withheld from me. I feel the disgrace of this; but, oh, if I can only through this disgrace recover my lost honour,--if I can only, by thus transgressing law, cease to be lawless! Believe me, it is no fleeting emotion that speaks through my lips,--it is the despairing effort of a stray soul to grasp the redeeming power of a true love!" She could scarcely conclude; overcome by passion, she fell upon her knees, stretched out her arms to him as if drowning, and burst into a storm of sobs. Johannes sought in vain to raise her. He was stunned, as it were, by this volcanic outburst. Suddenly, into the gaping wounds made by Ernestine's coldness, poured the hot lava-stream of a passion of which, in the temperate zone of his German intellectual existence, he had never dreamed. He stood as if before some startling natural phenomenon, amazed, overwhelmed, unable to collect himself. One thought filled his mind. Where he longed for love he could not find it, and where he neither desired nor hoped for it he found it in fullest measure. The contrast was too vivid; as if dazzled, he covered his eyes with his hand, and a profound sigh escaped him. She drew his hand away from his face, and asked, "Möllner, is that sigh for me?" "For both of us."