‘I don’t know really. Sometimes I want to cry, but I laugh. You mustn’t judge me--by what I do. Oh, by-the-bye, what a story that is about the Lorelei! Is that _her_ rock we can see? They say she used to drown every one, but as soon as she fell in love she threw herself in the water. I like that story. Frau Luise tells me all sorts of stories. Frau Luise has a black cat with yellow eyes.…’ Acia raised her head and shook her curls. ‘Ah, I am happy,’ she said. At that instant there floated across to us broken, monotonous sounds. Hundreds of voices in unison and at regular intervals were repeating a chanted litany. The crowd of pilgrims moved slowly along the road below with crosses and banners.… ‘I should like to go with them,’ said Acia, listening to the sounds of the voices gradually growing fainter. ‘Are you so religious?’ ‘I should like to go far away on a pilgrimage, on some great exploit,’ she went on. ‘As it is, the days pass by, life passes by, and what have we done?’ ‘You are ambitious,’ I observed. ‘You want to live to some purpose, to leave some trace behind you.…’ ‘Is that impossible, then?’ ‘Impossible,’ I was on the point of repeating.… But I glanced at her bright eyes, and only said: ‘You can try.’ ‘Tell me,’ began Acia, after a brief silence during which shadows passed over her face, which had already turned pale, ‘did you care much for that lady?… You remember my brother drank her health at the ruins the day after we first knew you.’ I laughed. ‘Your brother was joking. I never cared for any lady; at any rate, I don’t care for one now.’ ‘And what do you like in women?’ she asked, throwing back her head with innocent curiosity. ‘What a strange question!’ I cried. Acia was a little disconcerted. ‘I ought not to ask you such a question, ought I? Forgive me, I’m used to chattering away about anything that comes into my head. That’s why I’m afraid to speak.’ ‘Speak, for God’s sake, don’t be afraid,’ I hastened to intervene; ‘I’m so glad you’re leaving off being shy at last.’ Acia looked down, and laughed a soft light-hearted laugh; I had never heard such a laugh from her. ‘Well, tell me about something,’ she went on, stroking out the skirt of her dress, and arranging the folds over her legs, as though she were settling herself for a long while; ‘tell me or read me something, just as you read us, do you remember, from _Oniegin_.…’ She suddenly grew pensive-- ‘Where now is the cross and the branches’ shade Over my poor mother’s grave!’ She murmured in a low voice. ‘That’s not as it is in Pushkin,’ I observed. ‘But I should like to have been Tatiana,’ she went on, in the same dreamy tone. ‘Tell me a story,’ she suddenly added eagerly. But I was not in a mood for telling stories. I was watching her, all bathed in the bright sunshine, all peace and gentleness. Everything was joyously radiant about us, below, and above us--sky, earth, and waters; the very air seemed saturated with brilliant light.