Yet, thin as that thread was--woven out of shadows and cobwebs, as it appeared to her, the memory of certain faces, the echo of certain voices--it did hold her back, and kept her grave and reticent where Hans was wild and impassioned. He spoke out his feelings, raged against her unhappiness, and the cause of it, kissed her hands and her feet: one day he had found her alone in the afternoon, resting on a couch, and, maddened by the oppressed silence with which she listened to what he had to say, had knelt down beside the sofa, and covered those little feet with adoring kisses. Hans it was who did all this, and gazed at her in a rapture of love, and spoke words to her whose adoration drowned the somewhat false ring which sometimes sounded through them. Fulvia it was who was calm and almost silent, receiving it with a passion of inner gratitude, but seldom speaking, seldom giving expression to her feelings. It was as if her daily life made such expressions almost trivial, so stern was the wretchedness she felt at home. Nevertheless, there were now and then, very rarely, moments in which she broke this austere gravity, and gave him a look or a word which repaid days or weeks of waiting and severity. This morning, when they had been sitting for a long time almost silent, she turned to him, laid her hand for a moment upon his, and said: ‘Hans, it is since I knew you that I feel I have a right to live. I never have lived. I will live; I will not die without having lived.’ His heart sprang to his mouth. What was this but a promise? He lifted her hand to his lips, saying nothing audibly. He did not even wish to convey too much by a look, lest she should be startled, or begin to repent her of her decision. He asked no more, and did not even thank her--in words. The sun grew hotter as mid-day was passed, and cast a warm glow into even this shady corner, and the lights and shadows played about and chequered the surface of the water, and danced on the footpath, and flitted over Fulvia’s face, under the shadow of her large hat. It was a brief dream of rest and repose, of ease from pain, and of hope for the future. ‘Someone is coming!’ exclaimed Hans suddenly, in a tone of startled annoyance, as he raised himself and looked in the direction of the footsteps which he heard. ‘Well,’ said Fulvia, with a superb, almost dreaming indifference, ‘let someone come.’ ‘You do not mind this being interrupted: I do,’ said Hans angrily. ‘Confound him! whoever he may be.’ ‘No--not him. I’m glad to see him,’ Fulvia retorted, looking quietly forwards towards the figure of Signor Giuseppe, who was advancing up the path. He lifted his hat. Hans could not conceal his annoyance and vexation. Fulvia, on the contrary, rose and walked towards him with a gracious willingness to meet him. Minna had often noticed this profound respect in the bearing of the young woman to the old man. It spoke volumes to her.