When I entered the little room, Minna was sitting by the open window. I could at once see by the look she gave me, that she had shed many tears.
"Has he been to see you?" I asked at once, while I held her trembling hands in mine.
"Yes."
She allowed me to hold her right hand, while the other, with which she was crushing a small handkerchief, was firmly pressed under her breast, as if she was suffering acute pain.
"What he has said to you, dear Minna, I know beforehand after the interview I had with him last night.… He—after all—you were right yesterday, at all events with regard to the motive of his coming … unfortunately … though perhaps it is selfish of me to say so.…"
I hardly knew what I said, and even commonplace words were not any longer at my command, but stuck in my stifled throat. I watched the expression of her averted face, and waited for a word. But she, after one firm grip, suddenly snatched her hand from mine, sank down on the chair, and burst into a dreadfully violent fit of sobbing, with her face hidden in her hands. This heartrending sound, and the touching sight of this delicate girlish form shaken by the elementary force of weeping, affected me to such a degree that I forgot everything else. I threw myself on my knees beside her, embraced
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