Erik here rose solemnly. Then he continued, but, as he spoke, he was
overcome by all his former emotion and began to tremble like a leaf: "Yes, she was waiting for me ... waiting for me erect and alive, a
real, living bride ... as she hoped to be saved ... And, when I ...
came forward, more timid than ... a little child, she did not run away
... no, no ... she stayed ... she waited for me ... I even believe ...
daroga ... that she put out her forehead ... a little ... oh, not much
... just a little ... like a living bride ... And ... and ... I ...
kissed her! ... I! ... I! ... I! ... And she did not die! ... Oh, how
good it is, daroga, to kiss somebody on the forehead! ... You can't
tell! ... But I! I! ... My mother, daroga, my poor, unhappy mother
would never ... let me kiss her ... She used to run away ... and throw
me my mask! ... Nor any other woman ... ever, ever! ... Ah, you can
understand, my happiness was so great, I cried. And I fell at her
feet, crying ... and I kissed her feet ... her little feet ... crying.
You're crying, too, daroga ... and she cried also ... the angel cried!
..." Erik sobbed aloud and the Persian himself could not retain his
tears in the presence of that masked man, who, with his shoulders
shaking and his hands clutched at his chest, was moaning with pain and
love by turns.
"Yes, daroga ... I felt her tears flow on my forehead ... on mine,
mine! ... They were soft ... they were sweet! ... They trickled under
my mask ... they mingled with my tears in my eyes ... yes ... they
flowed between my lips ... Listen, daroga, listen to what I did ... I
tore off my mask so as not to lose one of her tears ... and she did not
run away! ... And she did not die! ... She remained alive, weeping
over me, with me. We cried together! I have tasted all the happiness
the world can offer!"
And Erik fell into a chair, choking for breath: "Ah, I am not going to die yet ... presently I shall ... but let me
cry! ... Listen, daroga ... listen to this ... While I was at her feet
... I heard her say, 'Poor, unhappy Erik!' ... AND SHE TOOK MY HAND!
... I had become no more, you know, than a poor dog ready to die for
her ... I mean it, daroga! ... I held in my hand a ring, a plain gold
ring which I had given her ... which she had lost ... and which I had
found again ... a wedding-ring, you know ... I slipped it into her
little hand and said, 'There! ... Take it! ... Take it for you ... and
him! ... It shall be my wedding-present a present from your poor,
unhappy Erik ... I know you love the boy ... don't cry any more! ...
She asked me, in a very soft voice, what I meant ... Then I made her
understand that, where she was concerned, I was only a poor dog, ready
to die for her ... but that she could marry the young man when she
pleased, because she had cried with me and mingled her tears with mine!
..."