From under the waterproof hood, which she had drawn so closely round her forehead and cheeks, that only here and there a stray lock of her fair hair escaped, there had shone forth the same sweet, pale face which had once held his senses spell-bound in blissful ecstasy, with the same mysteriously veiled blue eyes, and the same pathetic droop at the corners of the mouth. She pressed herself closer against the pedestal, and made no attempt to get up, as, bareheaded, he stood before her. "Felicitas!" he cried. His voice sounded hard and threatening, a little harder, perhaps, than he intended. The answer he got was a tearless sob, which shook the supple, rounded figure on the steps. Without looking up, she withdrew her left hand from her face and stretched it slowly towards him with a limp, helpless action; the hand seemed to fumble for the one that should meet and grasp it. But the intention of greeting her in so friendly a manner was far from him, and so her hand fell, without having found any support, into her lap, as a wounded bird falls to the ground. "You wished to speak to me, Felicitas?" he said. Now she let her right hand, too, slide from her face, and the melting and reproachful look she cast up at him seemed to ask, "Have I deserved this of you?" "She has aged a little," he thought, looking at her more nearly. She had a slightly worn appearance, although the oval outline of her profile curved in soft unbroken firmness into her rounded chin, and the milk-white forehead, over which the hair curled wildly, was of girlish purity and smoothness. But from the corners of the eyes downwards, delicate crow's-feet extended to the cheeks; the mouth seemed to have sunk, and on the brows faint, carefully drawn lines of paint had caught the moisture which glistened there in a chain of dewdrops. "Extraordinary!" he thought to himself, repeating the reflections of the night. "How completely one can be cured of love for a woman." And then he said again-- "You wished to speak to me, Felicitas?" In a low, hesitating voice, she asked, "And you, Leo, have not wished to speak to me?" "No," he answered bluntly. The corners of her lips trembled in a sad little smile, which, invulnerable as he felt himself to be, sent a stab to his soul. He must be severe, but not too rough with her. "You must not misunderstand me, Felicitas," he continued, in a softer tone. "We haven't met here to make sugary speeches, or to burrow in the old ashes. We must be open and frank with each other, however painful it may be. I intend to hurt you very much." She breathed more freely. This unqualified declaration of hostilities seemed to soothe her. Then she drooped her beautiful head humbly. "First of all," he went on, "so that there may be no cross purposes between us, I ask you--have you any regrets for what once existed between us?" "I don't know what you mean," she said softly. "Have you--have you, in short, an atom of liking left for me?"