“I am so happy that I don’t mind where we are, and I don’t long for Paris. Fancy Mrs. L. asking me if I was not angry because the baby spoilt my journey abroad—can you understand it from a mother of two of the handsomest boys in the world? But they are not taken the slightest notice of, except when they are with us, and Lennart says she would willingly make us a present of them. If I could afford it I would take them, so that baby would have two darling big brothers to play with when he comes. It will be such fun to show them their little cousin—they call me auntie, you see. I think it is nice. But I must close now. Do you know I am very pleased also, because Lennart cannot be jealous now—can he? and I don’t think he ever will be any more, for he knows quite well that I have never been really fond of anybody but him. “Do you think it unkind of me to write so much about this to you and that I am so happy? I know you don’t grudge me my luck. “Remember me kindly to all my friends—to Gunnar first and foremost. You may tell him what I have written if you like. Every good wish to yourself and welcome to us next summer.—Much love from your sincere and devoted little friend, CESCA. “P.S.—I must add something: If it is a girl she is going to be called Jenny. I don’t mind what Lennart says. He sends his regards to you, by the way.” Gunnar handed the letter back to Jenny, who put it in her pocket. “I am so pleased,” she said gently. “I am glad there are some people who are happy. That feeling is something still left of my old self—even if there is nothing else.” Instead of going back to the city, they crossed the Piazza, walking in the direction of the church. The shadows fell coal black on to the square in the moonlight. White light and night-black darkness played about ghostlike in one of the arcades. The other lay in complete obscurity but for the row of statues on top. The front of the church was in shadow, but here and there the dome glittered like water. The two fountains sent their white jets sparkling and foaming towards the moon-blue sky. The water rose whirling in the air, splashing down again to the porphyry shelves to drop and trickle back into the basin. Gunnar and Jenny walked slowly in the shade of the arcade towards the church. “Jenny,” he said all of a sudden, in a perfectly cool and everyday voice, “will you marry me?” “No,” she answered after a pause, in a similar tone. “I mean it.” “Yes, but surely you understand that I don’t want to.” “I don’t see why not. If I understood you rightly, you don’t value your life very highly at present, and you entertain thoughts of suicide occasionally. As you feel so inconsolable in any case, why should you not marry me? I think you might try.”