She wished it were all over, and that she might fall asleep
without the dread of waking. Greifenstein did not notice her.
'What shall it be?' he asked. She raised her face slowly and looked at
him.
'Oh, Hugo, I would rather not!' she exclaimed faintly.
Her husband laid down the volume he had last taken up, leaned back in
his chair, folded his knotted hands over his knee and looked at her
intently.
'Clara,' he said after a few moments, 'what is the matter with you?'
'Nothing, nothing at all!' she answered, with a feeble effort to look
cheerful.
'There is no object in telling me that,' returned Greifenstein, still
keeping his eyes fixed upon her. 'There is something the matter with
you, and it is something serious. I have watched you for a long time.
Either you are bodily ill, or else some matter troubles your mind.'
'Oh no! Nothing, I assure you,' she replied in a scarcely audible tone.
'I repeat that it is of no use. I do not wish to question you, my
dear,' he continued, almost kindly. 'Whatever your thoughts are, they
are your own. But I cannot see you wasting away before my eyes without
wishing to help you. It is part of my duty. Now a man is stronger than
a woman, and less imaginative. It may be that you are distressing
yourself with little reason, and that, if you would confide in me, I
might demonstrate to you that you have no cause for repining. Consider
well, whether you can tell me your trouble, and give me an answer.
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