In a city square he met a group of young girls carrying school-books. They stopped to throw snow at one another--and they laughed and romped. Their voices rang clearly over the snowy square. Not a footstep was to be heard, nor the sound of a vehicle--only the tinkling bells of the horses, or the rattling of a shop door; and the joyful laughing rang loudly through the stillness. Johannes saw that one of the girls glanced at him, and then kept looking back. She had on a black hat, and wore a gay little cloak. He knew her face very well, but could not think who she was. She nodded to him--and then again. "Who is that? I know her." "That is possible. Her name is Maria. Some call her Robinetta." "No, that cannot be. She is not like Windekind. She is like any other girl." "Ha, ha, ha! She cannot be like _nobody_. But she is what she is. You have been longing to see her, and now I will take you to her." "No! I do not want to go. I would rather have seen her dead, like the others." And Johannes did not look round again, but hurried on, muttering: "This is the last! There is nothing--nothing!" XIII The clear warm sunlight of an early spring morning streamed over the great city. Bright rays entered the little room where Johannes lived, and on the low ceiling there quivered and wavered a great splash of light, reflected from the water rippling in the moat. Johannes sat before the window in the sunshine, gazing out over the town. Its aspect was entirely altered. The grey fog had floated away, and a lustrous blue vapor enfolded the end of the long street and the distant towers. The slopes of the slate roofs glistened--silver-white. All the houses showed clear lines and bright surfaces in the sunlight, and there was a warm pulsing in the pale blue air. The water seemed alive. The brown buds of the elm trees were big and glossy, and clamorous sparrows were fluttering among the branches. As he gazed at all this, Johannes fell into a strange mood. The sunshine brought to him a sweet stupor--a blending of real luxury and oblivion. Dreamily he gazed at the glittering ripples--the swelling elm-tree buds, and he listened to the chirping of the sparrows. There was gladness in their notes. Not in a long time had he felt so susceptible to subtle impressions --nor so really happy. This was the old sunshine that he remembered. This was the sun that used to call him out-of-doors to the garden, where he would lie down on the warm ground, looking at the grasses and green things in front of him. There, nestled in the lee of an old wall, he could enjoy at his ease the light and heat. It was just right in that light! It gave that safe-at-home feeling--such as he remembered long ago, in his mother's arms. His mind was full of memories of former times, but he neither wept for nor desired them. He sat still and dreamed--wishing only that the sun would continue to shine.