"Phenomena cannot be forced," replied the General. "One has to practise patience. We would better stop, for the present." So the session ended, and after the medium, with many obsequious airs, had taken her leave, they partook of a delicious supper. Johannes retained his place beside the hostess, and the remembrance of the soft, warm hand that he had been able to hold in his own for so long a time made him very happy. He was not disappointed. Oh, no, he was elated--his excellent friend was so nice, so good, and so kind to him. A new Dutch waitress in black and wearing a snow-white cap with long strings was in attendance. Johannes paid no attention to her, but noticed that Van Lieverlee looked at her repeatedly. "Did you not think it a remarkable evening?" asked the countess, after the guests were gone and they were alone together. "I thought it splendid," replied Johannes, with sincerity. "They called it a failure," said the countess, "but it impressed me quite otherwise. I feel greatly moved." "I too," said Johannes. "Do you? That makes me happy. So you, also, feel that we need to be converted?" "I do not think that," said Johannes, "but you have been so good to me." Countess Dolores made no reply, but she smiled and pressed his hand kindly. Johannes retained her hand, while he looked into her eyes with passionate devotion. The waitress had been standing at the buffet, placing silver in the drawer. At this moment she turned round, and when Johannes in some confusion looked at her to see if she had paid any attention to his all-too-tender airs and words, he suddenly found himself gazing into a pair of well-known, light-grey eyes. They were Marjon's eyes, and they wore a look of unutterable anguish and sorrow. It seemed to Johannes as if his heart had stopped beating. He sat like one paralyzed, until his friend's hand slipped from his clasp. He appeared to wish to rise--to say something.... But Marjon put her finger to her lips, and went quietly on with her work. IX Among the visitors at Villa Dolores was a Roman prelate--a friend of Dolores' deceased husband. He was heavy of build and always cheerful, and never talked on religious subjects. Sometimes he came sociably, as a table guest, and besides a fund of anecdotes he also had much to say that was instructive, to which Johannes listened eagerly. He was a far more amiable person than Dominie Kraalboom, and Johannes liked him much better. He understood all about flowers and animals, about poetry, paintings, and music; and of special interest were his observations on beautiful Italy and holy Rome, where he had traveled and studied. Of course he did not belong to the Pleiades; and if by rare exception the circle was referred to in his presence, he, being both cautious and courteous, remained silent.