kisses, while I stammered forth excuses for my uncalled-for behaviour, my jealousy, and my foolish suspicion, of which she, in such a touching manner, had made me ashamed. This repentance, and still more the happy feeling of being so sincerely and sweetly loved, caused my tears to flow so freely that Minna jokingly said she feared they would obliterate the writing on the precious letter. Her eyes were also moist as we laughed and cried at the same time, and kissed away the tears from each other's cheeks.
But before we could look round her mother had entered the room. Then we awkwardly released each other, and Minna tried, by a quick turn, to hide her rather disordered toilet. The old woman coughed apologetically, and even her careful steps in her almost worn-out slippers seemed quietly to whisper, as she crept out with the coffee cups: "It doesn't matter, my children, I'm no nun myself. I have also been young. Go on billing and cooing! Dear me, as long as one doesn't do anything wrong!"
It annoyed me that we should be subject to a moral indulgence which we did not need, and especially that an ignoble—and undeserved—construction had been put upon this scene. Minna must have shared my feelings, for, while she buttoned the top of her blouse, she shrugged her shoulders and murmured with a comical resentment—
"The old woman always comes creeping in at the wrong moment."
"Do play a little, Minna," I said. "I have not heard you play at all, and I have looked forward so much to it."
Minna implored me not to insist, but I pulled her to the piano. It was still light enough for her to see the music. She opened a Schubert album and played one of the
