"You think that I shall make conditions, I shall insist upon the right of exclusiveness which such glowing love demands? No, no, let all remain as before. May another offer his whole life to me. Your vicinity--your love is my felicity, and I do not ask if your heart belongs to me alone! Let there be other happy ones beside me, I will learn to understand you entirely." Now only did Kuhl believe himself justified in folding the girl unreservedly to his heart. "And as a seal upon our newly-formed alliance, dear Paul--an alliance for which, in the eyes of the world, I have made a great sacrifice, we will take a ride together, tomorrow, but this time without Olga--you and I alone. This little distinction you owe to me." Kuhl assented! The supper with his mother and the two Fräulein von Dornau passed off most cheerfully. Olga, as yet, knew nothing of Cäcilie's desperate resolution; she looked upon her sister as Wegen's bride, and, therefore, was in a most happy mood--the champagne stirred her blood to flow more briskly--she even made some droll remarks. But Cäcilie sparkled with intellect, and developed such bold theories, that Paul delightedly followed her dizzy flight. On the following day, Wegen looked out of the window of his hotel. It was a cold day, but he must inhale fresh air--his heart was too full. He had put on a fur cap, and defied the rough wind that coloured his cheeks more deeply. Suddenly the sound of horses' hoofs resounded on the pavement--a lady and gentleman riding! How proudly the slender lady sat, allowing her black horse to curvet! Wegen had at once recognised the gentleman to be Dr. Kuhl! But the lady--did his eyes deceive him? Had the wind dazzled them with the dust that was blown about? There could be no doubt--it was Cäcilie! He became pale, and started back from the window. The sudden movement had swept away his fur cap, and his few fair hairs waved mournfully in the wind. The sound of the hoofs died away upon the pavement. Wegen sat upon the sofa, his cigar had gone out; he was utterly void of thought. He rang for his servant, so as to go to bed, when he suddenly recollected that it was only noon. He had his frock-coat with the Cross of the Order brought to him, and put it on; then he remembered that it was not today that he was to pay the decisive visit. And should he, indeed, still pay the visit? Had she had not openly set herself free? Was this ride not an intelligible reply? To be sure, now she must write to him herself, must spare him the humiliation of once more knocking in vain at her door. He did not leave the house; he expected the letter that contained the verdict of his death, but the letter did not come.