She placed the picture on a chair and threw herself on her knees before it. She prayed and wrestled with herself, but in the end she could not help saying to herself again, "Exactly what he wants; what he would never find a second time if he hunted all the world over." And she had five millions! If she did not give him up now she would indeed be one of those harpies, to whom, according to Frau Jula, she and her kind were likened in respectable family circles. "But he is mine; I have the right of possession! What good would his five millions do me if through them I go to the bad altogether? Why should I sacrifice myself for him or anyone?" The word "harpy" continued to ring persistently in her ears. She thought of the Furies depicted in the illustrated mythology books, the terror of all school-children, with their beautiful hair and murderous claws. "What I have is mine! I have a right to keep it, a right to tear it to pieces too." Oh, what a night that was. She lay in bed with her knees drawn up to her chin and her face buried in her lap, sobbing. She stuffed her clothes into her mouth, tore them out again, and sobbed anew; and at last, towards morning, a resolve was born of her tears, her shudders, her prayers, and bitter strife with herself--a resolve that seemed to bring release and salvation: "This afternoon, when he comes, I will tell him." But no! Why wait till the afternoon? Why let him cross the threshold first? How easily might the influence of their wonted association bring the great work of self-sacrifice to nothing! She must choose another place, somewhere less familiar, from which she could quickly escape as soon as she felt his presence made her falter. She had been forbidden, it is true, to visit his office without special permission; but if she chose the luncheon hour, and found him sitting quietly resting in his private back room, this would be the most favourable and easiest opportunity for an interview. No one would notice her going in, and she would not be disturbing him. Besides, so sacred a resolve as hers justified every step she might take. She spent the morning in arranging and packing up his letters. She intended to restore these to him with the photograph of his future bride, so that his mind should be set at rest concerning them once for all. Then she dressed more carefully than usual, and washed away the traces of her tears with milk of lilies. She waved her hair so that it descended over her neck in full ripples, such as she had seen in Greek statues. She felt, indeed, like one of those marble women of ancient Greece, so serenely elevated was her frame of mind above earthly happiness and sorrow. She drove to the office. As the clocks chimed a quarter-past one she stood at the pillared portico. No one was about in the yard; only the porter took off his cap with a friendly smile. To him she was still the "boss's" ladylove. It was a pity that she did not take the precaution of being announced.