"Only not at the temples, of course!" said Cilli quickly; "but his great beauty is in his eyes--great, flashing artist's eyes, which can take in a whole world! Oh, I know what you both look like, and my father too! I could draw his portrait!" She laughed happily and then suddenly became grave. "That is why I am distressed, too, when the faces I love are not cheerful. Justus's face is always cheerful, but then he is an artist, and can only live in sunshine; my father, too, has recovered his old cheerfulness, and now you must return to what you were at first--do you remember?" "Indeed I do, dear Cilli. So many things have happened since then; you know what I mean. They have troubled me, and trouble me still. And then Justus is right, I am an idler; I must manage to get to work again." "How did the General receive your work?" Reinhold looked up in astonishment; there was nothing surprising indeed in the question. He had mentioned the subject, as he had nearly all, excepting one, the most important--often enough at the tea-table here; but the tone in which Cilli had asked was peculiar. "How do you mean, dear Cilli?" he asked in return. "I only wanted to remind you that you had not been idle even here," said Cilli. She was standing opposite to him at the other side of the tea-table, and the light of the lamp fell full upon her pure features, on which was expressed some uneasiness. She seemed to be listening for the step of her father or Justus on the stairs. Then, as everything remained still, she felt her way round the table, sat down on the edge of the sofa, and said, while a deep colour suffused her whole face: "I did not tell you the truth; it was for another reason that I asked you. I have something else to ask you--a very great, very bold request--which you will perhaps grant me, if you are sure, as you ought to be, that it is not idle curiosity that prompts me, but heartfelt sympathy in your weal and woe." "Tell me, Cilli; I believe there is nothing in the world that I would deny you." "Well then, is it Elsa von Werben?" "Yes, dear Cilli." "Thank God!" Cilli sat still, with her hands in her lap; and Reinhold was silent too; he felt that he could not have spoken at the moment without tears. Cilli knew that he was not ashamed of his confession, but she had to a certain degree forced it from him, and as if in apology, she said: "You must not be angry with me. Good as Justus is, one cannot confide such things in him. I think he would hardly understand it. And you have no one else here excepting me; and I thought perhaps it would not be so hard for you if you could speak openly of your feelings even to blind Cilli." Reinhold took her hand, and carried it to his lips. "I am as grateful to you, dear Cilli, as a wounded man is when balm is poured upon his wounds, and I know no one in whom I would rather confide than in you, purest, kindest, best!"