“I am very serious,” she gaily continued. “I love you, only you, and you—you foolish, little man, didn’t know that everything was only make-believe and play-acting. How hard it often was for me to strike you with the whip, when I would have rather taken your head and covered it with kisses. But now we are through with that, aren’t we? I have played my cruel role better than you expected, and now you will be satisfied with my being a good, little wife who isn’t altogether unattractive. Isn’t that so? We will live like rational people—” “You will marry me!” I cried, overflowing with happiness. “Yes—marry you—you dear, darling man,” whispered Wanda, kissing my hands. I drew her up to my breast. “Now, you are no longer Gregor, my slave,” said she, “but Severin, the dear man I love—” “And he—you don’t love him?” I asked in agitation. “How could you imagine my loving a man of his brutal type? You were blind to everything, I was really afraid for you.” “I almost killed myself for your sake.” “Really?” she cried, “ah, I still tremble at the thought, that you were already in the Arno.” “But you saved me,” I replied, tenderly. “You hovered over the waters and smiled, and your smile called me back to life.” * * * * * I have a curious feeling when I now hold her in my arms and she lies silently against my breast and lets me kiss her and smiles. I feel like one who has suddenly awakened out of a feverish delirium, or like a shipwrecked man who has for many days battled with waves that momentarily threatened to devour him and finally has found a safe shore. * * * * * “I hate this Florence, where you have been so unhappy,” she declared, as I was saying good-night to her. “I want to leave immediately, tomorrow, you will be good enough to write a couple of letters for me, and, while you are doing that, I will drive to the city to pay my farewell visits. Is that satisfactory to you?” “Of course, you dear, sweet, beautiful woman.” * * * * * Early in the morning she knocked at my door to ask how I had slept. Her tenderness is positively wonderful. I should never have believed that she could be so tender. * * * * * She has now been gone for over four hours. I have long since finished the letters, and am now sitting in the gallery, looking down the street to see whether I cannot discover her carriage in the distance. I am a little worried about her, and yet I know there is no reason under heaven why I should doubt or fear. However, a feeling of oppression weighs me down, and I cannot rid myself of it. It is probably the sufferings of the past days, which still cast their shadows into my soul. * * * * * She is back, radiant with happiness and contentment. “Well, has everything gone as you wished?” I asked tenderly, kissing her hand. “Yes, dear heart,” she replied, “and we shall leave to-night. Help me pack my trunks.”