She
believed, and she had every reason so to believe, that her words would
give pleasure, and, with the jealous watchfulness of true love, she would
not willingly let a single expression of happiness escape her. But,
instead of the brightening eye, and the sudden expression of joy that she
expected, the young man appeared overwhelmed with feelings of a very
opposite, and indeed of the most painful, character. His breathing was
difficult, his look wandered, and his lips were convulsed. He passed his
hand across his brow, like a man in intense agony, and a cold perspiration
broke out, as by a dreadful inward working of the spirit, upon his
forehead and temples, in large visible drops.
"Adelheid--dearest Adelheid--thou knowest not what thou sayest!--One like
me can never become thy husband."
"Sigismund!--why this distress? Speak to me--ease thy mind by words. I
swear to thee that the consent of my father is accompanied on my part by
a willing heart. I love thee, Sigismund--wouldst thou have me--can I say
more?"
The young man gazed at her incredulously, and then, as thought became more
clear, as one regards a much-prized object that is hopelessly lost.
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