It seems she has completely forgotten the contract, my slavehood. Or
was it actually only stubbornness? And she gave up her whole plan as
soon as I no longer opposed her and submitted to her imperial whim?
How kind she is to me, how tender, how loving! We are spending
marvellously happy days.
To-day she had me read to her the scene between Faust and
Mephistopheles, in which the latter appears as a wandering scholar.
Her glance hung on me with strange pleasure.
“I don’t understand,” she said when I had finished, “how a man who
can read such great and beautiful thoughts with such expression, and
interpret them so clearly, concisely, and intelligently, can at the
same time be such a visionary and supersensual ninny as you are.”
“Were you pleased,” said I, and kissed her forehead.
She gently stroked my brow. “I love you, Severin,” she whispered. “I
don’t believe I could ever love any one more than you. Let us be
sensible, what do you say?”
Instead of replying I folded her in my arms; a deep inward, yet
vaguely sad happiness filled my breast, my eyes grew moist, and a
tear fell upon her hand.
“How can you cry!” she exclaimed, “you are a child!”
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