joyously, "twelve! He will come! I shall see him
again. Ah, there he is! There he is!"

She darted to the door to open it. She had not been mistaken. _He_ was
there, the man whom she expected. With a cry of joy he opened his arms, and
she threw herself into them, clasping her arms around his neck, and laid
her head upon his breast.

"Welcome, my beloved one, welcome! Oh, how delightful it is to rest upon
your breast!"

"And what happiness to clasp you in my arms, Leonore! Raise your head, my
sweet love; let me see your beautiful face and sun myself in your eyes."

She lifted her face to his, gazing at him with a happy smile. "I see myself
in your eyes, dearest."

"And you would see yourself in my heart also, if you could look into it,
Leonore. But come, my queen, sit down and let me rest at your feet and look
up to you as I always do in spirit."

He accompanied her to the divan and pressed her down upon the silken
cushions. Then, reclining at her feet, he laid his clasped hands in her lap
and resting his chin upon them, gazed up at her.

"Do you really love me, Leonore? Can you, the proud, petted, much courted
Baroness de Simonie, really love the poor adventurer, who has nothing, is
nothing, calls nothing his own, not even his heart, for that belongs to
you."

"I love you, because you are what you are," she said, smiling, stroking his
black hair lightly with her little white hand.

"I love you because you are different from every one else; because what
attracts others does not charm you; what terrifies others does not
intimidate you; I love you precisely because you are the poor adventurer
you call yourself. Thank heaven that you are no sensible, prudent,
deliberate gentleman, who longs for titles and orders, for money and
position, but the clever adventurer who calls nothing his own save his
honor, seeks nothing save peril, loves nothing save--"

"Loves nothing save Leonore," he ardently interrupted. "Believe me, it is
so! I love nothing save you, and, until I knew you, I did not know even
love, only hate."

"Hate?" she asked, smiling. "And whom did you hate, my loved one?"

"The foes of my native land," he cried, while a dark, angry flush swept
over his handsome, expressive face, and his dark eyes flashed more
brightly.

"The foes of your native land?" she repeated, smiling. "And who are these
hated foes?"

"The Prussians and the Emperor Napoleon. It was the Prussians who first
dismembered my haples