"No, it's only I," he whispered, hardly able to speak.
"What's the matter? What do you want?"
"I want to speak to you, Helena," he answered, hardly knowing what he
was saying.
The key turned in the lock. Albert could hardly trust his ears. The
door flew open. Helena stood on the threshold, still fully dressed.
"What is it you want?" she asked. Then she noticed that he was in his
dressing-gown and that his eyes shone strangely.
She stretched out her hand, pushed him away and slammed the door.
He heard a thud on the floor and almost simultaneously loud sobs.
Furious, but abashed, he returned to his room. She was in earnest,
then! But this was certainly anything but normal.
He lay awake all night, brooding, and on the following morning he
breakfasted alone.
When he came home for lunch, Helena received him with an expression of
pained resignation.
"Why do you treat me like that?" she asked.
He apologised, with as few words as possible. Then he repented his
curtness and climbed down.
Thus matters stood for six months. He was tossed between doubt, rage
and love, but his chain held.
His face grew pale and his eyes lost their lustre. His temper had
become uncertain; a sullen fury smouldered beneath his outward calm.
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