"I must go to this last love because of my first love. Once I lay under her girdle, I was a part of the young body of my first love. She bore me to her anguish, even then to her anguish. I cannot forget the love that was between us. But I outgrew my childhood and all childishness: I became, they say, the chief of Manuel's barons: and my living has got me fine food and garments and tall servants and two castles and a known name, and all which any reasonable mother could hope for her son. Yet I cannot forget the love that was between us, nor our shared faith in what was to be! To-day I visit this ancient woman now and then, and we make friendly talk together about everything except my wife, and our lips touch, and I go away. That is all. And it seems strange that I was once a part of this woman,--I who have never won to nor desired real intimacy with anyone,--and it seems strange to hear people applauding my wisdom and high deeds of statecraft, and in all matters acclaiming the success of Anavalt. I think that this old woman also finds it strange. I do not know, for we can understand each other no longer. I only know that, viewing me, there is in this old woman's filmed eyes a sort of fondness, even now, and a puzzled grieving. I only know that her eyes also I wish never to see any more." "Still, still, you must be talking Œdipean riddles!" the leper answered. "I prefer simplicity, I incline to the complex no longer. So, very frankly, I warn you, who were Anavalt, that you are going, spent and infatuate, toward your last illusion." Anavalt replied: "Rather do I flee pellmell from the illusions of others. Behind me I am leaving the bright swords of adversaries and the more deadly malice of out-rivalled friends and the fury of some husbands, but not because I fear these things. Behind me I am leaving the puzzled eyes of women that put faith in me, because I fear these unendurably." "You should have feared them earlier, tired man," replied the other, "in a sunlit time when I who am Owner-of-the-World would wonderfully have helped you. Now you must go your way, as I go mine. There is one who may, perhaps, yet bring us together once again; but now we are parted, and you need look for no more reverses." As he said this, the ruined boy sank slowly into the ash-heap, and so disappeared; and Anavalt went on, through trampled ashes, into the quiet midst of the wood. Among the bones about the striped windmill that is supported by four pillars, the witless Elle Maid was waiting. § 43 The witless Elle Maid was waiting there, as the tale tells, among much human wreckage. She rose and cried: "Now you are very welcome, Sir Anavalt. But what will you give Maid Vae?" Anavalt answered, "All." "Then we shall be happy together, dear Anavalt, and for your sake I am well content to throw my bonnet over the windmill."