‘Do you know----,’ I began; ‘let’s go back to your place, I don’t want to go home.’ ‘What about your work?’ I made no reply. Gagin smiled good-humouredly, and we went back to L. As I caught sight of the familiar vineyard and little white house, I felt a certain sweetness--yes, sweetness in my heart, as though honey was stealthily dropping thence for me. My heart was light after what Gagin had told me. IX Acia met us in the very doorway of the house. I expected a laugh again; but she came to meet us, pale and silent, with downcast eyes. ‘Here he is again,’ Gagin began, ‘and he wanted to come back of his own accord, observe.’ Acia looked at me inquiringly. It was my turn now to hold out my hand, and this time I pressed her chilly fingers warmly. I felt very sorry for her. I understood now a great deal in her that had puzzled me before; her inward restlessness, her want of breeding, her desire to be striking--all became clear to me. I had had a peep into that soul; a secret scourge was always tormenting her, her ignorant self-consciousness struggled in confused alarm, but her whole nature strove towards truth. I understood why this strange little girl attracted me; it was not only by the half-wild charm of her slender body that she attracted me; I liked her soul. Gagin began rummaging among his canvases. I suggested to Acia that she should take a turn with me in the vineyard. She agreed at once, with cheerful and almost humble readiness. We went half-way down the mountain, and sat down on a broad stone. ‘And you weren’t dull without us?’ Acia began. ‘And were you dull without me?’ I queried. Acia gave me a sidelong look. ‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Was it nice in the mountains?’ she went on at once. ‘Were they high ones? Higher than the clouds? Tell me what you saw. You were telling my brother, but I didn’t hear anything.’ ‘It was of your own accord you went away,’ I remarked. ‘I went away … because …--I’m not going away now,’ she added with a confiding caress in her voice. ‘You were angry to-day.’ ‘I?’ ‘Yes, you.’ ‘Upon my word, whatever for?’ ‘I don’t know, but you were angry, and you went away angry. I was very much vexed that you went away like that, and I’m so glad you came back.’ ‘And I’m glad I came back,’ I observed. Acia gave herself a little shrug, as children often do when they are very pleased. ‘Oh, I’m good at guessing!’ she went on. ‘Sometimes, simply from the way papa coughed, I could tell in the next room whether he was pleased with me or not.’ Till that day Acia had never once spoken to me of her father. I was struck by it. ‘Were you fond of your father?’ I said, and suddenly, to my intense annoyance, I felt I was reddening. She made no answer, and blushed too. We were both silent. In the distance a smoking steamer was scudding along on the Rhine. We began watching it. ‘Why don’t you tell me about your tour?’ Acia murmured. ‘Why did you laugh to-day directly you saw me?’ I asked.