“Why do you not write about all that, Leon?  That I do not think of such things is not to be wondered at; but nobody else here has thoughts like these.”

“Why do I not write?” I replied.  “There are many reasons for it.  I will explain to you some time; one of them is that I have nobody near me who, like you, says:  ‘Leon, why do you not do something?’”

After this we both became silent.  I had never seen Aniela’s lashes veil her eyes so closely, and I could almost hear the beating of her heart.

And indeed she had a right to expect me to say:  “Will you remain with me always and put the same question?” But I found such a keen delight in skirting the precipice before making the final plunge, and feeling that heart palpitating almost in my hand that I could not do it.

“Good-night,” I said, after a short time.

And that angelic creature gave not the slightest sign that she had met with a disappointment.  She rose, and with the least touch of sadness in her voice, but no impatience, replied:  “Good-night.”

We shook hands and parted for the night.  My hand was already on the latch, when I turned round and saw her still standing near the table.

“Aniela!  Tell me,” I said, “do you not think me a fantastic kind of man, full of whims and fancies?”

“Oh, no, not fantastic; sometimes I think you a little strange, but then I say to myself that men like you are bound to be different from others.”

“One question more; when was it you thought me strange the first time?”

Aniela blushed to the tips of her ears.  How pretty she looked with the pink flame spreading over her face and neck.

“No, I could not tell you.”

“Then let me guess, and if I am right say yes.  It is a single word.”

“What word?” she asked, with increased confusion.

“Tablets.  Yes, or no?”

“Yes,” said Aniela, with drooping eyes.

“Then I will tell you why I wrote those words.  First, because I wanted a link connecting us together, a little secret shared by both of us, and also—­”

I pointed at the flowers the gardener had brought from the hot-house.

“You know flowers want light to bring out all their beauty, and I wanted plenty of light for our atmosphere.”

“I cannot always follow you,” she said, after a momentary silence, “but I trust you, yes, and believe in you.”

We remained once more silent; I pressed her hand again, saying good-night.  We stopped near the door, and our eyes met.  The waters begin to rise and to rise.  They will overstep their boundary any moment.

23 February.