* * * * *
Without any provocation she suddenly said to me to-day: “You interest
me. Most men are very commonplace, without verve or poetry. In you
there is a certain depth and capacity for enthusiasm and a deep
seriousness, which delight me. I might learn to love you.”
After a short but severe shower we went out together to the meadow and
the statue of Venus. All about us the earth steamed; mists rose up
toward heaven like clouds of incense; a shattered rainbow still hovered
in the air. The trees were still shedding drops, but sparrows and
finches were already hopping from twig to twig. They are twittering
gaily, as if very much pleased at something. Everything is filled with
a fresh fragrance. We cannot cross the meadow for it is still wet. In
the sunlight it looks like a small pool, and the goddess of love seems
to rise from the undulations of its mirror-like surface. About her head
a swarm of gnats is dancing, which, illuminated by the sun, seem to
hover above her like an aureole.
Wanda is enjoying the lovely scene. As all the benches along the walk
are still wet, she supports herself on my arm to rest a while. A soft
weariness permeates her whole being, her eyes are half closed; I feel
the touch of her breath on my cheek.
How I managed to get up courage enough I really don’t know, but I took
hold of her hand, asking,
“Could you love me?”
“Why not,” she replied, letting her calm, clear look rest upon me, but
not for long.
A moment later I am kneeling before her, pressing my burning face
against the fragrant muslin of her gown.
“But Severin—this isn’t right,” she cried.
But I take hold of her little foot, and press my lips upon it.
“You are getting worse and worse!” she cried. She tore herself free,
and fled rapidly toward the house, the while her adorable slipper
remained in my hand.
Is it an omen?
* * * * *
All day long I didn’t dare to go near her. Toward evening as I was
sitting in my arbor her gay red head peered suddenly through the
greenery of her balcony. “Why don’t you come up?” he called down
impatiently.
I ran upstairs, and at the top lost courage again. I knocked very
lightly. She didn’t say come-in, but opened the door herself, and stood
on the threshold.
“Where is my slipper?”
“It is—I have—I want,” I stammered.
“Get it, and then we will have tea together, and chat.”
When I returned, she was engaged in making tea. I ceremoniously placed
the slipper on the table, and stood in the corner like a child awaiting
punishment.
I noticed that her brows were slightly contracted, and there was an
expression of hardness and dominance about her lips which delighted me.
All of a sudden she broke out laughing.
“So—you are really in love—with me?”
“Yes, and I suffer more from it than you can imagine?”
“You suffer?” she laughed again.