I had only obeyed in appearance. I had hardly reached the tower when I began to listen for the sound of closing doors, and no sooner was I convinced that my father had gone back to his study than I furtively crept down and slipped out of the house. Once beyond the gate new courage inspired me: I straightened up and breathed freely. This time, I had no thought of taking a roundabout way, putting on airs of indifference, deceiving any whom I might meet, but ran by the shortest road to the Market Square. The gipsies were rolling up the tent, piling up the benches, the Sunday loiterers looking on with interest. This raising of the camp boded ill--I saw Nazzarena at last; she was gathering together the scattered household utensils. This was no time to be bashful: it called for heroic resolution. In the very face of all the spectators, most of whom doubtless knew the Rambert boy, I flew to my beloved, like one of the knights of my ballads. When she saw me she cast a heart-broken glance upon me. “They drove us out of your garden,” she said before I had spoken a word. How reply to this grievous statement? No doubt she included me among her persecutors. “It wasn’t I!” I cried, hasting to separate myself from my family. “Of course it wasn’t you,” she replied philosophically. “You are too little. We went to tell your grandfather that we are going away to-morrow. To-morrow morning.” “To-morrow!” I repeated, as if I had not heard, or had not understood. “Yes, to-morrow. See for yourself. They are loading the things on the waggons now. The Marinetti brothers have left us. There’ll be no matinée to-day--that’s one good haul lost.” To my surprise, she was not angry with me for her expulsion, and even in my grief I observed an unexpected reversal of parts: she was showing an unaccustomed consideration for me, and I was taking on a little protecting air. The prestige of power was doing its work all unawares to myself. Thus she did not suggest that I should help her in her work, though the day before she would not have failed to do so. One of the old hags stuck her long yellow face out of the nearest waggon, and upbraided her for wasting her time. “I must go,” said Nazzarena. “Such a job to get ready for moving! Good-bye, good-bye, my little lover! I wish you another sweetheart; you’s cute; you’ll find one.” She did not offer her hand; perhaps she dared not, because of the respect for me which the sight of the house had inspired in her. And I found no words in which to reply to her. I smiled foolishly at her strange wish for me: it seemed abominable and sacrilegious, though the affectionate way in which she uttered it was as sweet to me as a caress. Her departure floored me--seemed to cut my legs and arms and empty my brain. I stood there like a dolt. Time and place were nothing to me--she was going away!