Jeanné burst into tears. 'But go--only go, unhappy one! Do you not hear? There is some one coming--it is my husband.'
'Let him come, he is not my worst enemy at this moment.'
Jeanné cast on him a sorrowful and reproachful look, but at the same time held out her hand to him. Krusé sprang up.
'Then you have some pity for all that I have suffered,' he said; 'and you will not let me go without one kind word at parting?'
She bowed her head almost imperceptibly, and yet it was sufficient for him; his eyes shone, his lips trembled, in his deep emotion.
When Gregers returned to the room, they were both sitting quietly and in perfect silence.
A few minutes afterwards, Krusé took leave, and rode away. Within an hour from that time, a youthful figure stole softly out of one of the side-doors which led from the apartments of the lady of the house down to the garden. She was wrapped in a large shawl, and moved slowly, and, as if unwillingly, onwards. Krusé hastened to meet her as she entered the garden. Jeanné received him more coldly than she need have done after having consented to the interview. But he knew her so well, he had expected nothing else.
'You desired me yesterday,' he began, in a low and unsteady voice, 'not to come up often to Hald, and were vexed at me this evening because I venture to disobey your injunction. God is my witness, Jeanné, that it was my intention to have been guided by your commands.'
'Why, then, did you come this evening?' she asked.
'Because I knew before the general did that we were to be ordered on immediate service, and I could not resist seeing you once more ere our departure.'
'Would to God we had never met each other!' she whispered in a low sad voice. 'It would have been better for us both.'
'Oh, I entreat you,' he said, with that irresistible tenderness which had always found its way to Jeanné's heart, 'do not say that. I am going far away now, and your wish will be fulfilled; but why should you give me so sad a souvenir to take with me? It is probable, Jeanné, that I shall never return--indeed, it is almost certain, for on what account, or for whom need I seek to save my life?--but if I _do_ return, should I be fated to live, will you then be less merciful than God, and deny me permission to visit you as hitherto? If you will only grant me leave to see you again, I shall never misuse that kindness by a word or a look of which you might disapprove; no sigh, no complaint shall betray to you what I suffer.'