The Thoma who awoke was a different girl from the Thoma of the betrothal morning. She soon heard this from strangers. Her former playmate, with whom she had quarrelled, came and told her how changed she was, and that they must be friends again. Thoma soon showed her, however, that she had not grown more lenient with the change, and would accept no pity. She repulsed the disgraced girl coldly and sharply. CHAPTER XXI. The prison at the county-town stands high up on the mountain; the sound of the bells in the village on the plateau reaches it from far away. Landolin knew they were tolling for a funeral. He thought of home, where they were burying Vetturi. He tried to imagine all that was passing, but he could not. Round Cushion-Kate's little house stood a crowd of people, mostly women, for their husbands did not think it worth while to lose a day's work for an insignificant person like Vetturi. The district physician left the house, followed by the bailiff and the clerk of the borough, who put on his hat as he came out of doors. Then came the pastor. The sobs and weeping became louder and louder, and almost drowned the tolling of the bells. The procession was formed. Cushion-Kate followed the bier with her red kerchief tied under her chin, and pulled far down over her forehead, so that her face could scarcely be seen; and reaching from her shoulders to her feet hung the large black woolen cloak which the borough furnished to mourners. Her eyes were fastened on the ground as she walked. As the procession passed Landolin's house, she shook her bony fist toward it, from under the black cloak. The house was closed. No window was thrown open. Anton, who walked in the procession next to the village clerk, could not see that Thoma joined the last persons of the little train, and knelt in the churchyard, hidden by a hedge. The pastor spoke a few touching words of comfort. He exhorted the poor bereaved mother to bear no malice in her soul--to leave punishment to God. He repeated that he who thinks of revenge and retaliation does more harm to his own soul than to him whom he seeks to punish. Cushion-Kate's moans changed to rebellious mutterings. But almost as many eyes rested upon Anton as upon Cushion-Kate herself; and overcome by his emotion, he suddenly burst into loud weeping. The procession broke up, and the people scattered in different directions. Anton started away. He walked slowly, as though undecided what to do; and then turning as with a sudden presentiment, he saw Thoma, who was rising from her knees. She stood still. She seemed to be embarrassed at his seeing her. He turned back, and holding out his hand, said,-- "One must not say good day, in the churchyard; or perhaps you do not share the superstition?" She neither answered, nor gave him her hand. "May I walk with you? See, they are looking at us. Be calm!" She walked by his side without raising her eyes.