When a flash of lightning wrote in letters of fire across the inside of her mind the words _Will you go with me now?_ and though there was no meaning in what they said, she understood that it told the unfaithfulness of her lover. The hand that had extended to take that of Pyax patted it instead. “I am sorry,” she said. “Perhaps it was my fault. I should have told you. . . . When others do it, I never could. But I thank you for the good festival.” 13 FAREWELL AND GREETING Back again to the place of masks through streets littered with the sour debris of festival, among which languid sweepers toiled. After what had happened, Lalette did not ask to say farewell to the elder Pyax or Aunt Zanzanna. There was a twitch at the corner of the doorman’s mouth as he let them out; she would not let Gaidu accompany her farther than the market square (for morning had brought back all the anxiety of the price still on her apprehension). He remarked somewhat spitefully that he could understand how she would not wish to have her people see a Zigraner bringing her home. Laduis answered her knock; he seemed truly happy to see her. The widow was at the cookshop; Lalette changed the mask of Sunimaa for her worn clothes, finishing just as the woman returned. They ate, talking but little, and that much in light terms. Dame Domijaiek sent the boy out, and as his footsteps went down the stair: “Did you find him?” she asked. “He is at Sedad Vix.” Her mouth worked a little, and with the calm eyes fixed upon her, she could keep it back no more. “He has been unfaithful to me.” “I do not understand.” “In the witch-families we cannot help—” “Ah. Then it is a knowledge gained through falsity and witchcraft, not through the God of love, and so will lead to no good end.” “I am unhappy,” was all Lalette could whisper, (not understanding what the woman was trying to say). “It is because you look on this man as personal to you. Love must share with all.” (There was something passionately wrong with this, Lalette felt, but rue and the after-lash of last night’s wine and this morning’s experience had left her too low to seek out the flaws.) She began to weep softly. After a few minutes, the widow said: “Let us reason. If you owe him not less than all love, so he owes as much to you; and by destroying your joy, he has failed his obligation. Do you still love him, not as we must love all, but to yourself, as of the material world?” (It seemed to Lalette as though there were something big and dark and heavy in her breast where her heart ought to be, and she had no clear thoughts at all any more.) “I did not—ah, I do not know, he is all I have.” “You have a mother, child.” “A mother who tried to sell me! And still would, if she could find me.” “Because she wishes to save you from distresses she herself has felt. That also is done in love, I think.”