Let me be--you have won." "I know," said I; "but you have not told me aught.

I can only guess that you think that I have taken your place with Sexberga." "Aye--and now you have won it." "I want it not," I answered.

"Had you not been so angry you would have known that, when I bid you go back and meet her without me." Now he looked at me with a sort of doubt, and said, in a somewhat halting way: "I heard you just now tell her that it could not be that you could think of her--as things are." Then I remembered what my last words had been, and I saw that they might easily have misled him after all the trouble he seemed to have had.
"You heard too much or too little," said I, being minded to laugh, though the matter was over serious to him to let me do so.

"I spoke of my own troubles, which were the less because my fortunes prevent my thinking of any maiden, seeing that I have no home to give a wife when I find her.

You were wrong in thinking that I spoke of Sexberga--I spoke, as you might have known, of the one whom I have lost." "How should I know that?
I know nought of your affairs." Then thought I to myself that I would punish Sexberga, for she had tortured this honest lover of hers over much.
"I will not tell you that tale.