He for his part no longer seemed a person in need of sympathy and consolation, but very self-satisfied and proud of what he had done. He removed a blackberry stuck in the lattice-work of the seat, and put it in his mouth. "It would be a pity to get our clothes in a mess," he said, as he crunched the seeds slowly between his teeth. Lilly grew more composed and stooped to pick up the bag. "What is in that?" he inquired. "It looks a heavy thing to carry." In alarm Lilly clutched it to her heart. "It's only the door-key," she faltered. Then they set out homewards. "If only I could make him change his opinion," she thought, "and think better of me again!" The only thing that occurred to her was to gather a nosegay of all the most beautiful wild-flowers she could reach. With downcast eyes, she offered him the nosgay as a parting souvenir instead of that other gift of which she now could not think without feeling a fool. He thanked her with a courtly bow and a flourish of the bamboo cane with the silver knob, an heirloom, of which he had only just come into possession. Lilly was too depressed and humiliated to utter a word. "Doesn't something tell you," he asked, "that we shall meet again sometime in the future?" She turned aside; it was all she could do to suppress the tears that rose to her eyes. "If we do," he went on, "I hope I shall prove to you what incessant work and unwavering loyalty to one's convictions can accomplish, even without money." His voice now vibrated with gleeful self-confidence and importance. It seemed almost as if, in reducing her to a state of insignificance and despair, he had imbibed something of her former gay courage. When, however, they drew near the old market-place, he became exceedingly uneasy again, as he looked up and down the streets. They were very full now, he remarked; it would be better if they parted here, and pursued their way home by different roads. He said "pursued," to show that his studies in German literature had not entirely been wasted. * * * * * A few days later he left on his travels. The atmosphere was long heavy with the odour of the garlic in the sausage with which Frau Redlich had flavoured her son's soup at parting. Poor Lilly crouched behind the window curtains with a sore heart, and wished that she had never set eyes on him. CHAPTER IX One grey, hazy October morning, when winter's approach was tempered by a muggy warmth, a wonderful thing happened. Frau Asmussen's runaway daughters returned.