But with that violent peal of thunder the storm had reached its height, and when the next flash of lightning came the thunder did not follow until some time after, though the rain continued to beat as heavily against the panes. Yet even had the tempest continued to rage with full fury, Barbara would not have been dissuaded from the resolution which she had once formed. True, her attempt to persuade Frau Lerch to accompany her remained futile. Her frail body, the dressmaker protested, was not able to undertake such a walk through the storm. If she yielded, it would be her death. It would kill Barbara, also, and this crazy venture would be too dearly paid for at the cost of two human lives. Barbara’s angry remark that if she would not run the risk of getting wet for the sake of compassion, she might on account of the Hiltners’ good custom, finally made the excited woman burst into piteous crying; yet in the midst of it she brought Barbara’s dress and old thick cloak and, as she put them on the girl, exclaimed, “But I tell you, child, you’ll turn back again when you get halfway there, and all you bring home will be a bad illness.” “Whoever can execute the gagliarde to dance herself into misery,” replied Barbara impatiently, “will not find it difficult to take a walk through the rain to save some one else from misfortune. The cloak!” “She will go,” sobbed Frau Lerch. “The servants must still obey you. At least order the litter. This crazy night pilgrimage can not remain concealed.” “Then let people talk about it,” replied Barbara firmly and, after having the cloak clasped and the hood drawn over her head, she went out. Frau Lerch, who had the key, opened the door for her amid loud lamentations and muttered curses; but when the girl had vanished in the darkness, she turned back, saying fiercely through her set teeth: “Rush on to ruin, you headstrong creature! If I see aright, the magnificence here is already tottering. Go and get wet! I’ve made my profit, and the two unfinished gowns can be added to the account. The Lord is my witness that I meant well. But will she ever do what sensible people advise? Always running her head against the wall. Whoever will not hear, must feel.” She hastened back into the house as she spoke to escape the pouring rain, but Barbara paid little heed to the wet, and waded on through the mire of the road. The force of the storm was broken, the wind had subsided, distant flashes of lightning still illumined the northern horizon, and the night air was stiflingly sultry. No one appeared in the road, and yet some belated pedestrian might run against her at any moment, for the dense darkness shrouded even the nearest objects. But she knew the way, and had determined to follow the Danube and go along the woodlands to the tanner’s pit, whence the Hiltner house was easily reached. In this way she could pass around the gate, which otherwise she would have been obliged to have opened.