This thought had scarcely entered his mind when it took the shape of a conviction. In the deep silence now reigning in the tent, he heard the general's suppressed groans as he drew his breath heavily, and saw the arm by which he supported himself as he leaned it on the table, tremble.
'What answer have you to give me?' inquired the general.
'It is true what you say, general. I do love her.'
The admission did not make the slightest alteration in the expression of the general's countenance, as Krusé had expected it would have done.
'How long ago did your love for her commence?' he asked.
'I have loved Jeanné Rysé since my childhood. She was the first, the only one I ever loved--the only one I ever will love. And now, general! After this confession, I wait to hear what further you have to say to me. I see that you have prepared for what was to happen,' he added, glancing towards the pistols which lay on the table. 'I have been long expecting it, and, when you came into my tent, I anticipated that what sooner or later must end thus was close at hand.'
Gregers remained silent for a few seconds, and then said:
'You are mistaken, captain! I was not thinking of killing you when I asked you to come here this evening. If such had been my intention, it would have been carried out long ago. For three years, Krusé, I have known that you loved her, but I saw, at the same time, how little guilt there was in this secret love.' He held out his hand to Krusé. 'Poor fellow!' he continued, 'how could you help that you loved her? You, who were young, and whom God had destined for her. The error was, that no one gave me any idea of this until it was too late. I was a witness to the grief you both evinced; I heard the last words, the last sighs with which you parted from each other! I know it all. What you, on the contrary, do not know is--that I also loved Jeanné.'
'Yes; you are surprised at that, are you not?' continued Gregers, with a melancholy smile. 'An old man, who had no other right to that girl's love than what chance and authority bestowed. But I loved her, nevertheless, with an affection that in strength and devotion quite equalled your own. She was the only one, the last who bound me to life; my heart grew young again under the influence of this love, which, in spite of a husband's claims, preserved a lover's first timidity.'