She took a step towards the curtain, but the storm of passion had exhausted her strength. She uttered a loud sob, and would have fallen down if Oswald had not caught her in his arms. His situation was extremely painful. He feared every moment to hear voices in the room, to see the curtain drawn back,--and yet, to leave the poor child fainting there, especially as he could not well send anybody to her assistance,--it was out of the question. And yet he must tear himself away, for he felt that the fever in his senses, suppressed for a moment, was returning with tenfold strength the longer this trying situation continued ... Tender, affectionate, passionate words began to mingle, he did not himself know how, with his low beseeching prayers; an irresistible force made the youthful form cling closer to his arms, and, ere he well knew what was done, their lips met, the soft hair mingled with his ... But, more than any words could have done, the contact, these signs of the love of a passionate child, brought him back to his self-respect. "Then you do love me, Oswald?" she whispered, clinging more closely than ever to him. "Yes, yes, sweet one; who could be cruel enough not to love you dearly. But by your love I beseech you leave me now, before it is too late. I shall see you again in the ballroom." The girl put her small head once more to his bosom, as if she felt that it was the first and the last time she should ever rest there, and raised her rosy and willing lips once more, as if she knew that such sweet stolen kisses would not be given to her again in this life ... The lithe white form had disappeared, and only the pale moonlight fell upon the dark red curtains which separated the window from the room. And now, as Oswald put his hand on the curtain, in order to return by some roundabout way to the ball-room, he heard the voices of two men, who were just then entering the room. CHAPTER II. "Who on earth was that?" said one voice,--it was Baron Oldenburg,--"was not that the pretty Emily? What has the little angler been fishing for here in these troubled waters?--But now, Barnewitz, I ask with Hamlet: Whither do you lead me? Speak, I will go no further. Twice I have brought my baronial knees into unpleasant contact with coarse chair-legs, thanks to the abominable _clair obscur_ which prevails in these rooms. Heaven be thanked! here is a causeuse: _eh bien, mon ami; que me voulez-vous?_" "I pray you, Oldenburg, be serious for a moment," said Baron Barnewitz, and his voice sounded strangely subdued--"I really do not feel in the least like laughing." "You are a strange creature! You and the like of you. You think an honest fellow cannot utter a serious word without making a face like a mute's. Humor is an unknown luxury here. Well then, my serious friend, what is the matter?" "Listen, Oldenburg----" "Hush! Are you quite safe here? It seemed to me I heard a cat behind the hangings." "It was nothing."