Hope flickered for a moment in her sad eyes; yes! he wanted to come back to her; he wanted to be hers again.
But was it not too late?
Hadn't something gone forever, something been killed?
Could even Theophil himself ever make her happy any more?
Then the misery flooded over her again in an irresistible sea, in which all kind words fell powerless as snowflakes; her resolution broke down, and with terrible sobs she flung herself into Theophil's arms.
"O Theophil, my heart is breaking, my heart is breaking." Theophil was to feel her crying thus against his bosom till the end of his life.

He shuddered with dread at this terrible crying--it was as though all her life was leaving her in sobs, as though she were bleeding to death in tears.

It was grief piteously prostrate, wild, convulsive, unutterable.

Jenny was right.

Her heart was breaking.
Theophil's terror was right.