“Ach! gnadiges Fraulein, will you no breakfast have?”

“No thank you, Barbi.”

“Liebes Fraulein, what a beautiful morning after the rain it has become!  How cool!  It is for you good—­for the colour in your cheeks; now they will bloom again!” and Barbi stroked her own well-coloured cheeks.

Dominique, sunning himself outside with a cloth across his arm, bowed as she passed, and smiled affectionately: 

“He is better this morning, M’mselle.  We march—­we are getting on.  Good news will put the heart into you.”

Christian thought:  ‘How sweet every one is to-day!’

Even the Villa seemed to greet her, with the sun aslant on it; and the trees, trembling and weeping golden tears.  At the cathedral she was early for the service, but here and there were figures on their knees; the faint, sickly odour of long-burnt incense clung in the air; a priest moved silently at the far end.  She knelt, and when at last she rose the service had begun.  With the sound of the intoning a sense of peace came to her—­the peace of resolution.  For good or bad she felt that she had faced her fate.

She went out with a look of quiet serenity and walked home along the dyke.  Close to Harz’s studio she sat down.  Now—­it was her own; all that had belonged to him, that had ever had a part in him.

An old beggar, who had been watching her, came gently from behind.  “Gracious lady!” he said, peering at her eyes, “this is the lucky day for you.  I have lost my luck.”

Christian opened her purse, there was only one coin in it, a gold piece; the beggar’s eyes sparkled.

She thought suddenly:  ‘It’s no longer mine; I must begin to be careful,’ but she felt ashamed when she looked at the old man.

“I am sorry,” she said; “yesterday I would have given you this, but—­but now it’s already given.”

He seemed so old and poor—­what could she give him?  She unhooked a little silver brooch at her throat.  “You will get something for that,” she said; “it’s better than nothing.  I am very sorry you are so old and poor.”

The beggar crossed himself.  “Gracious lady,” he muttered, “may you never want!”

Christian hurried on; the rustling of leaves soon carried the words away.  She did not feel inclined to go in, and crossing the bridge began to climb the hill.  There was a gentle breeze, drifting the clouds across the sun; lizards darted out over the walls, looked at her, and whisked away.

The sunshine, dappling through the tops of trees, gashed down on a torrent.  The earth smelt sweet, the vineyards round the white farms glistened; everything seemed to leap and dance with sap and life; it was a moment of Spring in midsummer.  Christian walked on, wondering at her own happiness.

‘Am I heartless?’ she thought.  ’I am going to leave him—­I am going into life; I shall have to fight now, there’ll be no looking back.’