He sprang to his feet and before her mind could flash to attention he had caught her from her chair and was straining her to him, his arms, his entire body, betraying no evidence whatever of depleted vitality.  “Let us forget it all!” he muttered.  “We are still young and I am free.  I was a fool once and you will believe me when I tell you that I would beg you on my knees to marry me even if you were Gisela Doering....  I have leave of absence for a month ... let us be happy once more....”

“It was a long while ago ... all that ... do you realize how long?”

Gisela stood rigid, her eyes expanded.  To her terror and dismay she was thrilling and flaming from head to foot.  This lover of her life might have released her from one of their immortal hours but yesterday.  But although she had to brace her body from yielding, her mind (and it is the curse of intellectual women of individual powers that the mind never, in any circumstances, ceases to function) realized that while the human will may be strong enough to banish memories, and readjust the lonely soul, its most triumphant acts may be annihilated by the physical contact of its mate.  Unless replaced.  Fool that she had been merely to have buried the memory of this man by an act of will.  She should have taken a commonplace lover, or husband, put out that flaming midnight torch with the standardizing light of day.

Her mind seemed to be darting from peak to peak in a swift and dazzling flight as he talked rapidly and brokenly, kissing her cheek, her neck, straining her so close to him that she could hardly breathe.  Suddenly it poised above the memory of an old book of Renan’s, “The Abbess Juarre,” in which the eminent skeptic had somewhat clumsily attempted to demonstrate that if the world unmistakably announced its finish within three days the inhabitants would give themselves up to an orgy of love.

Well, her world might end to-morrow.  Why should she not live to-night?

Her arrogant will demanded the happiness that this man, whom she had never ceased to love for a moment, to whom she had been unconsciously faithful, alone could give her.  Moreover, her reason working side by side with her imperious desires, assured her that if he really were spying, and, whatever his passion, meant to remold her will to his and snatch the keystone from the arch, it were wise to keep him here.  It was evident that he had no suspicion of the imminence of the revolution.

And it was years since she had felt all woman, not a mere intellect ignoring the tides in the depths of her being.  The revelation that she was still young and that her will and all the proud achievements of her mind could dissolve at this man’s touch in the crucible of her passion filled her with exultation.

She melted into his arms and lifted hers heavily to his neck.

“Franz!  Franz!” she whispered.

2

Gisela moved softly about the room looking for fresh candles.  Those that had replaced the moonlight hours ago had burned out and she did not dare draw the curtains apart:  it was too near the dawn.  She had no idea what time it was.  But she must have light, for to think was imperative, and her mental processes were always clogged in the dark.