What was it, then, that had made her as if asleep, in her late restless waiting?
And the eternal question returned, the question that she asked herself every evening when she went to her room.

Did she love him?
For hours, in the middle of her great bed, she had turned over again and again these words, seeking for meanings she could not find, and thinking she was too ignorant to explain them.

But that night, all at once, she felt her heart was softened by some inexplicable happiness.
She cried nervously, without reason, and hid her head in her pillow that no one might hear her.
Yes, now she loved him; she loved him enough to be willing to die for him.

But why?
But how?
She could not tell, she never would know; simply from her whole heart came the cry that she did indeed love him.

The light had come to her at last; this new, overpowering joy overwhelmed her like the most ardent rays of the sun.
For a long time her tears flowed, but not from sorrow.