"Come," I said, "let us go back. I don't care to go home." "And your work?" I made no reply. Gagin laughed good-naturedly, and we returned to L----. As the well-known vineyard and the little white house on the hillside came in sight, my heart was warmed in a curious way--yes, that was it--warmed and soothed as if, unknown to me, some one had poured some healing drops there. Gagin's story had made me cheerful. Assja met us at the threshold. I had expected to find her still laughing, but she stepped forward to us, pale, silent, and with eyes down cast. "Here he is again," Gagin said to her, "and be sure of this: it was his own wish to come back." Assja looked at me inquiringly. I held out my hand to her, and this time I grasped tightly her cold and slender fingers. I felt deep pity for her. Now I understood much that had before disturbed me in her: her inner restlessness, her offensive manner, her endeavor to show herself other than she was--all was clear to me. I had had a glimpse into this soul. A constant weight oppressed it. Fearfully the untrained will fought and struggled, yet her whole being was striving after truth. Now I understood why this singular girl had attracted me: it was not only the charm which invested her whole body; it was her soul which drew me. Gagin began to fumble among his sketches. I asked Assja to come for a walk with me through the vineyard. She gave a ready, almost humble assent. We climbed the hill about half way, and stopped on a broad plateau. "And you felt no _ennui_ without us?" Assja began. "Did you, then, feel any in my absence?" I asked. Assja looked at me sideways. "Yes," she replied. "Is it pleasant in the mountains?" she immediately continued. "Are they high? Higher than the clouds? Tell me what you have seen. You have told my brother, but I have heard nothing about it." "Why did you go away?" I interrupted her. "I went--because---- Now I will not go away," she added in a gentle, confiding tone. "You were cross today." "I?" "You." "But why? I beg you----" "I don't know; but you were cross, and went away cross. It was very unpleasant to me to have you go away in that manner, and I am glad that you have come back." "I am equally glad," I replied. Assja moved her shoulders slightly, one after the other, as children do when they are in good humor. "Oh, I am famous at guessing," she went on. "Long ago my father had only to cough, and I knew instantly whether he was pleased with me or not." Till this time Assja had never spoken to me of her father. That struck me. "You loved your father very much?" I asked, and I felt to my great annoyance that I was blushing. She did not answer, but she also blushed. We were both silent. In the distance a steamboat with its trailing smoke was descending the Rhine: our looks followed it. "Why do you not tell me something?" Assja said half aloud. "Why did you laugh to-day when you saw me coming?" I asked her.