"Mrs. Czepanek--Mrs. Czepanek--what I am going to say--what I am going to say"--his raised hands jerked back and forth before her face--"will either bring us together again--or--send us apart forever. I was cowardly before. I thought I could evade the truth. When I said I didn't mean what I wrote in my poem, I was lying. I felt exactly what I wrote. And a thousand times more strongly. But I oughtn't to have spoken. I know I frightened you. You were bewildered. You didn't know how to take me. You probably think me some enamoured adventurer who wants to exploit the trust you show. Dear, dear Mrs. Czepanek, I promise you I will never again annoy you with a display of my feelings. But don't withdraw your friendship from me. Please don't. Just imagine what would become of me if I were to lose you!" So _that's_ what it was! Oh, God! If nothing else stood between them. She could not help herself--she had to lean against a tree and cry. Her tears soon soaked her veil, and she raised it and pressed her finger tips to her eyes. "What's the matter?" she heard his voice, hoarse with anxiety. "Did I wound you so deeply? Was what I said so very bad? I will atone for it. Just pardon me. You must pardon me." When she heard him beg her pardon so humbly for the immeasurable happiness he had bestowed upon her, she was seized with a frenzy, and throwing her grand manner to the winds and her shame, to boot, she flung her arms about his neck with a groan of abandon, pressed her body against his, and kissed his lips, and sucked and bit them. Under the impetus of this wild, unchaste kiss, he staggered and held himself erect on her, digging his fingers into the flesh of her upper arm. How good it felt, because it hurt so! "At last, at last!" her heart cried. Now he knew who she was and what she had to give him. When she pulled herself together, she saw he had sunk back with his head leaning against the same tree that had supported her. His hat had fallen to the ground. His eyes were closed. His face had the ashen hue of death. For a few moments all was still. The only sound was the clanging of the tram bells. "My love, my love!" she whispered, stooping and then drawing herself upward on him. "Wake up, my love! wake up, and come!" He opened his eyes and stared at her with the look of a foolish slave. "Come, come," she exulted. "Come back, come home. I don't want to roam about any more--in the woods or restaurants. Come home! Come to me!" He did not respond. He seemed to have lost his mind completely. A dull sense of guilt awoke in her, but was instantly stifled by joy. "Come, come!" With both hands she drew him away from the spot that had become the cradle of her bliss--and his, too. Was it remarkable that happiness should benumb him and rob him of his senses? He upon whom Lilly Czepanek bestowed herself, Lilly Czepanek for whose favour hundreds had begged in vain, might well lose his senses. It by no means derogated from his dignity.