It was true. There was no deception. That was Hans, older, handsomer, with his boyish tendency to lounge developed into the supple ease of a man of the world, but with--the words of the young lady who had been so pleased with his picture came into Minna’s mind almost grotesquely: ‘Those long eyes and that intense look’--the eyes and the look which are so difficult to read aright in man or woman--experience only can prove whether they mean a character weak, selfish, and sensuous, or earnest and passionately clinging in its loves and hates, hopes and fears. Whatsoever the look might betoken, the man was Hans; and that woman beside him, in the full splendour of youth and beauty, in the full pomp of the costliest simplicity of dress, with the bearing of a queen, and the utterly calm and self-possessed, rather cool aspect--that was Fulvia. For a moment the three stood looking at each other, while their expressions changed half a dozen times. It was Minna who spoke first, in a voice which she could not force to be steady, tried she never so hard. ‘Fulvia!’ she said. ‘Hans!’ ‘Minna, by Jove!’ ejaculated Hans, recovering from his astonishment. ‘I never was more floored in my life, though why I should have been I’m sure I don’t know. It’s the most natural thing in the world for you to be here--just as it is for us. I have brought Mrs. Marchmont, you see, to show her an old acquaintance.’ He smiled and looked at Minna’s statue. A great change had come over Fulvia’s face. She had grown very pale; her steady eyes wavered--one could almost have sworn that, for one moment, they were dim. While Hans was talking, she and Minna had clasped hands and were looking at one another. Minna was far past speaking. It was as if her own beloved child, long lost, had returned to her. Fulvia also seemed not to be possessed of much eloquence. A grave, sweet smile dawned upon her lips; in a low voice and with an accent of indescribable tenderness she said: ‘Signora carissima!’ It was the exact tone in which she had often spoken to Minna, when she had sat with her five years ago, in her little salon at Casa Dietrich, discussing the woeful future. As she spoke, with a swift, graceful gesture she lifted Minna’s hands to her lips, and kissed them, one after the other. The elder woman was shaken to her innermost being. She felt that, if she spoke, tears would rush from her eyes and choke her voice. After a long time, ‘At last!’ she stammered out, and, unable to bear it any longer, she sat down hastily on the bench, and, still holding Fulvia’s hand, drew her to the space beside her. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, recovering breath, ‘the gods are good. Sometimes they send us what we want. They have been good to me to-day.’