A fresh sigh from the baron was the only answer. Jenny grew silent, and her eyes, that just now were shining with happiness, lost their brightness; the happy blush vanished from her cheek; anxious presentiments made her heart shrink, and she gave a shiver.
“Oh, how unhappy I am!” groaned the baron half aloud.
“Unhappy!” said Jenny. “And yet you have our child in your arms!”
The baron sat down without speaking on the nearest chair, still holding the baby in his arms. Jenny tried to break the silence.
“You seem very different, Mundy, from what you used to be, and from what I expected. God knows, I feel as if snow were falling into my heart!”
“Trust me!”
“I am not so weak-minded as not to trust you. But I certainly expected to hear words of comfort from your lips, to give me strength and courage; and instead of that, you have nothing for me at this sacred moment but ill-omened sighs.”
“I have very much on my mind to trouble me, Jenny,—very much.”
“Speak then; tell me all, candidly and openly. There could not be a more appropriate moment for a quiet earnest talk about our future than this.”
“Let us enjoy our baby now; we can settle all about the rest some other time.”
Jenny grew still paler. Her eye betrayed painful anxiety, and at the same time an icy decision.
“Perhaps I do not quite understand you,” she added after another silence.
“But you must allow of my insisting at this moment on my right to obtain—not
