hen I gave him back his promise?--has it not confirmed my
belief that we could never be happy together? And yet, you imagine I
would think differently of him because he now lies dangerously ill, and
perhaps dying, of wounds which were undoubtedly given him by his rival,
that peasant fellow--in a fight--about a tavern-waiter--"

Her voice failed her; she turned away to repress her tears; but her
passionate pain overcame her, and, bursting into uncontrollable
sobbing, she sank back on a chair near the open door leading on to the
balcony.

Even the jovial mood of her good-hearted foster-father was not proof
against this passionate outburst of long-suppressed feeling. He had
always regarded the girl's self-possessed bearing with amazement, and
had secretly attributed to her a certain coldness of heart, for she had
never given him an insight into the struggles and storms of her young
life. And now she sat before him like a child that has given way to its
grief, deaf, apparently, to all comforting words and caresses.

"You will bring things to such a pass," he cried, in ludicrous
desperation, "that I shall be forced to take up my old trade, and go
out lion-hunting again in my old age. Upon my word it's less wearing
work than having anything to do with a pair of estranged lovers, who
will neither come together nor yet separate entirely. The thing worked
passably as long as you were able to face it out. After all, although I
always looked upon it as a piece of foolishness for you to give such a
lover his dismissal, just because he didn't want to kiss the slipper
before his marriage: still, I supposed you must know what you were
about, and it was impossible for me to supply a mother's place toward
you, and explain how we men ought to be managed. At all events, things
ran smoothly, and we went on living peacefully together. But now, when
the ice suddenly breaks and you lose all control over yourself--tell
me, what in the world am I to do? My experience with wild animals has
made me something of a savage; but I instantly become the most cowardly
and chicken-hearted of domestic animals if a woman--and particularly
one I care so much for--begins to cry in my presence."

She suddenly drew herself up, shook back her curls and passed her hand
across her eyes.

"You shall not have to complain of it again, uncle," she said, in a
determined tone; "most assuredly, never again. You are right; it is
foolish to cry about something that w