VII
Agnes was silent for a moment. Her eyes held a rapturous expression, and dilated as she gazed before her. Her face showed the remembrance of past happiness. Presently she went on:
“The next day I came to myself. I was overcome by shame and terror. I was utterly unlike myself all day. Bernard came as usual in the evening. He was thoughtful and confused. He looked me straight in the eyes and understood what I was feeling, and it grieved him. I seized a moment when we were alone together to say, ‘Dear Bernard, we have done very wrong. I forgot my duty; I broke faith with my husband whom I love truly and devotedly. I don’t know what happened to me,’ I said to him, ‘but when we were together yesterday I felt as if I loved you.’ ”
“You have always loved him, Agnes, since the first time you saw him,” said her husband in a very quiet gentle tone.
Agnes trembled a little. She wanted to look up at her husband, but could not, and she went on hurriedly:
“ ‘I am very sinful,’ I said to Bernard Horn, ‘because I love you both, my dear husband and you. This is a great sin in the sight of God and of men,’ I said, ‘a sin, because a wife ought to be faithful to her husband, and he to her. Dear Bernard,’ said I to him, ‘I shall always cherish the sweet memory of last night, but what happened then must never be repeated, and I must never again walk alone with you on this beautiful shore. And you, dear Bernard, must give me your word that you will never ask me what I cannot give you, and you won’t expect kisses from me.’ I wept as I spoke to him, like a little girl, and my heart was torn with grief and with a strange joy. I knew my sin, and my contrite heart trembled in my bosom. I repented, and in that moment I knew that He who had given me a heart to love and to be happy had forgiven me. Bernard looked lovingly at me, and I saw that he was touched to the depths of his soul. He kissed my hand and said, ‘Don’t take away the crimson ribbon from me, dear Agnes,’ and I whispered back, ‘Keep it,’ and ran away to my own room. For a long time I wept there, and I wanted to weep endlessly. But I remembered that I must see after the supper, and I came downstairs, after carefully bathing my swollen eyelids in cold water.”
Agnes was silent, and with a timid imploring gaze looked up at her husband. The eyes of the old man glowed as radiantly as in his youth. He put his arm around his wife tenderly and said:
“I remember that day, dear Agnes. I remember it, because I knew all. I saw you and I understood everything.”
“You knew!” exclaimed Agnes quietly. “You knew, and said nothing to me!”
“I knew,” said Professor Roggenfeldt, “that you said nothing to me about the matter for fear of hurting me. I trusted you; I knew you were loyal to me; and if you did sin against me then I forgave you before you realised that it was a sin. Like this old gentleman who was here just now, I was ready to forgive deviation from rhythm, and even a mistake in the playing, if only the playing were not without soul. But you have always warmed and enlightened my life. You have not been like these mechanical musicians who have learned by heart their parts, which never express their souls. I have been happy with you, because you have given me the rapture of love.”
“My dear one, my beloved,” said she, touched by his words, “I knew that you had a great and a beautiful soul. It’s true, I didn’t want to grieve you. But now that so many years have passed, and we have not much longer to live in this beautiful world, I resolved at last to tell you all. This morning I wrote to Doctor Horn, and at my request he sent me back the crimson ribbon. I put it on your writing-table after lunch, before we came out here. It is yours.”
“No, no,” answered Edward with animation. “Our dear friend, Doctor Bernard Horn, must keep it. He has done us much service, and he was with you in that fateful moment when your heart was surcharged with an unreasonable, immeasurable love. He held a cup of sweet wine to your thirsty lips, and may God bless him for this as I bless him for it. But now, Agnes, dry your tears and send at once to Bernard. He must come today and bring his violin, and we again …”