Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/320

tranquil voice. "We should take advantage of the last bit of sunshine. Before we know it, winter will be here."

Her sincere tone seemed to encourage him. The fear in his eyes began to melt, his lips parted, and with his former tenderness, he spoke her name. "Anna," he said, "is it possible-do you really forgive me?"

he did not answer. Her eyes deepened with humility. Unconsciously, as if pulled by some mystic force, she found herself drawn to him and nestled her head against his shoulder. This silent gesture was like an answer to his question. "Liebchen!" He took her head in his hands and gazed with wonder into her eyes. "Anna, my little Anna. Is it still possible? Isn't it too late?"

How can it be too late, she thought, impulsively, when we are sitting together again-when the touch of your fingers engulfs my soul?

"Of course, it is not too late," she said aloud, holding back her tears, "I am only afraid that it is not yet time. It is perhaps too early, Eric-much too early."

Then she broke down, and sobbed into her handkerchief. Her mood of vengeance had given way to her need of love without which the very air was strangled.

"What do you mean, too early?" Eric rasped. His features like his voice grew harsh; his jaws hardened into a steel-like trap.

She dried her tears and looked up at him, with an expression running the full gamut between love and hatred.

"Is there somebody in the way?" he demanded.

"In the way?" Anna awoke as if from a dream, recalled suddenly to her iron mood of vengeance. Her lips twitched with pain. Her fingers grew tense, and with an agonized voice she exclaimed: "There is not one person in the way -nor ten-but thousands; millions stand between us! Don't