"And then again I saw neither you nor myself, or rather I saw us both in a third figure, the peasant figure--in which, in spite of all, by God's decree, and the will of the Holy Virgin, he perhaps now wanders on the earth." "No! no! no!" she cried. She had started from her chair, but immediately sank back again, her slender hands pressed to her brow and eyes, while repeated shudders shook her tender frame. "No! no! no!" she murmured again; "the righteous God could not permit that!" Then recollecting how fearfully ambiguous her words were, she added: "In peasant's dress! my son!" "And mine!" said Giraldi softly. "Valerie, remember; is not life sweet because it is life; because it is sunshine and the chirping of the cicala, and moonlight, and the sound of the lute! Ah! how often I have wished I had never seen any other light, I had never heard any other music!" "But he is no longer alive!" she exclaimed; "cannot be alive after all we heard! Who was it then who proved it to me with such terrible clearness at that time when I would have given all I had for a smile from him?" "At that time? and now no longer?" A voice within her repeated, "No! no! no! for then the fetters which bind you to him would be unbreakable!" But she did not dare to speak the words, and once more bowed her head silently in her hands. His dark eyes were fixed firmly on her bowed figure. "And now no longer?" The question had not been answered. "Was it in reality only the pain of the wound which had taken so long to heal, and which she did not wish now to have torn open again? Was it the doubt that is quenched in despair, or did treason lurk in her silence? Was it one of those signs of which he had observed more than one lately; a sign of silently planned desertion, of secret rebellion against his mastery?" His dark glance sought the clock. "At this very moment I am still working and planning for her. Let her beware lest the time come when I do so for myself, and then necessarily against her! Let her beware of saying 'Now no longer!' "May I continue, Valerie?" She nodded without speaking. "I am almost afraid to do so. It is so seldom that I allow myself to be carried away by my feelings, when sober reason, which smooths the troubled work of life, should alone reign. I know it does not become me." In his voice there was not the slightest trace of the dark thoughts that were passing through his mind: there was rather a tone of pain, which he would have wished to conceal, a tone of reproach which resigns its rights and asks for pardon.