She looked out for a moment on the square and the people, but drew back suddenly in apparent fear lest they should see her.

Then she sat down and turned her face towards mine.

I read in her eyes something of the conflict of emotions which possessed her; she seemed at once to deprecate my disapproval and to ask my sympathy; she prayed me to be gentle to her fault and kind to her happiness; self-reproach shadowed her joy, but the golden gleam of it strayed through.

I looked eagerly at her; this would not have been her bearing had she come from a last farewell; for the radiance was there, however much dimmed by sorrow and by fearfulness.
"Fritz," she began softly, "I am wicked--so wicked.

Won't God punish me for my gladness ?" I fear I paid little heed to her trouble, though I can understand it well enough now.
"Gladness ?" I cried in a low voice.