nd stammered out in her dream, "No, no, certainly not--pray, do not! my
love--" Then her arm fell again by her side, and dropping on the chest
on which she was sitting, the blow woke her. She slowly opened her eyes
with a happy smile; then she raised her long silken lashes till her eyes
were open, and she gazed fixedly on vacancy as though something strange
had met her gaze. Thus she sat for some time without moving; then she
started up, pressed her hand on her brow and eyes, and shuddering as
if she had seen something horrible or were shivering with ague, she
murmured in gasps, while she clenched her teeth:

"What does this mean? How come I by such thoughts? What demons are these
that make us do and feel things in our dreams which when we are waking
we should drive far, far from our thoughts? I could hate myself, despise
and hate myself for the sake of those dreams since, wretch that I am!
I let him put his arm round me--and no bitter rage--ah! no--something
quite different, something exquisitely sweet, thrilled through my soul."

As she spoke, she clenched her fists and pressed them against her
temples; then again her arms dropped languidly into her lap, and shaking
her head she went on in an altered and softened voice:

"Still-it was only in a dream and--Oh! ye eternal gods--when we are
asleep--well! and what then? Has it come to this; to impure thoughts I
am adding self-deception! No, this dream was sent by no demon, it was
only a distorted reflection of what I felt yesterday and the day before,
and before that even, when the tall stranger looked straight into my
eyes--four times he has done so now--and then--how many hours ago, gave
me the violets. Did I even turn away my face or punish his boldness with
an angry look? Is it not sometimes possible to drive away an enemy with
a glance? I have often succeeded when a man has looked after us; but
yesterday I could not, and I was as wide awake then as I am at this
moment. What does the stranger want with me? What is it he asks with his
penetrating glance, which for days has followed me wherever I turn, and
robs me of peace even in my sleep? Why should I open my eyes--the gates
of the heart--to him? And now the poison poured in through them is
seething there; but I will tear it out, and when Irene comes home I will
tread the violets into the dust, or leave them with her; she will soon
pull them to pieces or leave them to wither miserably--for I will remain
pure-minded,