About an hour had elapsed, when he was startled by a rustling sound at the back of his chair. He turned round and found her standing beside him. Her face was very white, her lips trembling, her breath coming quick through dilated nostrils. The fur collarette was unfastened at the throat, and showed the coarse chemise underneath, the folds of which rose and fell with her billowing breast. In the excitement of the moment she had forgotten to arrange her clothing. "How handsome she is!" he thought, filled with involuntary admiration of her strange beauty, and then he tried not to look at her. "Now then, what's the matter?" he asked in his gentlest tones. She made an effort to speak, but some moments passed before a sound escaped her lips. "Oh, _Herr_!" she stammered forth at last, "was it you--did you do that with the beds?" "Yes, of course. Who else should do it?" "But--why--_why_?" and she lifted her swimming eyes in alarm and consternation. Apparently his kindness frightened her. It was necessary to adopt a firmer tone in order to become master of his own emotions. "Stupid girl," he said loftily, "do you think I wish you to die out there of cold?" For a moment she stood like a statue, silent and motionless, and big sparkling drops rolled down her cheeks. And then suddenly she threw herself at his feet, clung to both his hands, and covered them with kisses and tears. At first he was too unnerved and thrilled at the sight of her agitation to speak. He had never imagined that she would be so deeply moved. Then he collected himself, and withdrawing his hands commanded her to rise. "Don't make a scene, Regina," he said. "Go to bed. I'm sure you must be tired out." She would have wiped her eyes with her sleeve, as was her habit, only she remembered the new soft fur trimming in time, and so let her tears run on. "Ah, _Herr_!" she sobbed. "I hardly know what's come over me. But were you really serious? I don't deserve all your kindness. First the beautiful jacket, and then when I expected a whipping for being gone the whole day--for you to ... Oh----" "Say no more. I won't listen to another word," he insisted. "You must have some sort of bed. Where used you to sleep before?" She started and cast down her eyes. "Before?" she murmured. "Yes, in my father's time." "Ah, then, I used to lie on the door-mat or----" she paused. "Or where?" She still remained silent, and trembled. "Where?" he asked again. Her eyes moved shyly in the direction of the canopied bed. "You know; ah, you know, _Herr_," she murmured. And then overwhelmed with shame she covered her face with her hands. Yes, he knew. How could he forget it for a moment. "Begone!" he cried, his voice shaking with anger and disgust, and he motioned her to the door. Without a word she crept out, her head still bowed in her hands. CHAPTER XI