She considered the plan. “You are right, it can be done. But you must start long before me. Close to the house, on the left side, is a narrow path, almost hidden under the trees, that leads directly down into the valley. When you come to the wooden cross on the wayside, wait for me there. But you had better leave me now,” she added, becoming anxious; “the others may notice our talking together.” He went back, threw himself on the straw, and fell asleep in the midst of the noisy quarreling of the gamblers. The next morning, when George descended along the path of which Tertschka had told him, the world was full of bright sunshine. He looked eagerly ahead to find the cross in the valley, where they were to meet, and soon he saw it, toppling over and half rotten, surrounded by a few pine saplings. When he reached the spot he sat down on a moss-grown rock, which was lying in front of the cross, forming a natural praying-stool. The deep quiet of the Sabbath rested over everything; even the bees did not seem to be humming exactly as they flew over the dark-blue gentians that grew here in plenty. George felt himself listening to something, he knew not what, but it seemed like a solemn, yet gentle, ringing of bells, high above him in the air. But soon he became impatient. He walked about, picking gentians and other flowers, yellow and white, and thought as he looked at the nosegay in his hand: “I will give these to Tertschka when she comes.” Finally he plucked some ferns and put them into his cap, where they waved like feathers. Now he saw a dress fluttering in the wind on top of the hill, and quickly he ran to meet her. “Here I am,” she said, a little out of breath. “I got away more easily than I expected.” George looked at her. She was without the kerchief which she always wore over her head; her hair was parted simply and braided, and the red of her neckerchief shed a soft glow over her face. The dark jacket, somewhat broad, and the light skirt, both looked well on her. “How nice you look,” he said slowly. She blushed. “All these things belonged to my mother,” she told him, stroking the stiff skirt, that it might fall a little more gracefully. “I wear them so seldom, that is why they keep so well.”