“Ah,” putting down the iron, and lifting her hard brown hands, “it is not for me to say; but this I know; she deceives us. Many an hour when the girl is supposed to be at classes, or with her school mates, Mitli is elsewhere. She has been given too much love, and liberty, and too much trust.” And with this pronouncement, Frau Hurter turned to the stove to fetch another iron. Cara’s mother ascended to her room, filled with anxiety and far-reaching fears. As she stood at the open window, looking out on the lake and the stars, inhaling air honey-sweet, with the breath of flowers,--a singular desolation, a sense of homelessness, and loneliness, came upon her. Something had overtaken her, from which there was no escape; something had died in her heart--the belief in Cara’s truth, and innocence. She opened the communicating door very gently, and peeped into the next room. Cara was asleep, with a candle guttering beside the bed. An open book lay on the floor. Letty picked it up and glanced at the title. _Bel Ami_, Guy de Maupassant. Then she blew out the light, returned to her own room, undressed, and went to bed, where she lay awake for hours; blaming herself for blunders and failures, making good resolutions, now and then bursting into stifled sobs, till the sparrows in the pear tree began to twitter, and an exquisite new day came stealing down the mountains. Now that she had an assured income of two hundred a year, Letty had ceased to work incessantly for daily bread, and had spare time, to spend with her girl, to share her walks, and excursions, and amusements; but her proffered companionship appeared to be unwelcome. When she suggested a row on the lake, a tea picnic, a steamer trip, she was generally assured that such outings were impossible, Cara’s engagements were so numerous; she was playing tennis with the Maas girls, or spending the day at Engelberg with her drawing-mistress, or going to the swimming baths with their friends of the Weggisgasse, and much-sought-for Mitli seemed to have no desire and no leisure, for the society of her mother. During the last fortnight, a sudden and strange change had come over the girl; looking back, Letty dated it from the day of the fête, or a little later. She had become silent, moody, and almost morose--as if she cherished a mortal grievance and was offended with everyone; and sometimes when she looked up her mother found Cara’s eyes fixed upon her with a sullen, almost hostile expression. What did it mean? Cara no longer cared to visit the Paradis, to tea or _déjeuner_--once hailed as a welcome treat. She shut herself up in her room, writing letters, and every morning walked down to Mitzau to the post office,--instead of awaiting the leisurely arrival of the facteur. She was restless, irritable, strange; undoubtedly her condition had something to do with her correspondence, and her mother, acting upon her newly formed resolutions, made bold enquiries.