The tall figure dwindled in the distance. "Never been in the army," she thought, judging from his rather heavy gait. Then it seemed to her that he stooped, drew himself up again, and looked back. In fact, he spied about a long time as if compelled to discover her. But she kept herself carefully hidden and did not move. He walked on and disappeared behind a curve. "What a pity I didn't take the carriage," thought Lilly. She might be overtaking him now without appearing to follow him, and the seven-pointed coronet would not have failed of its effect. As it was, he naturally cherished a bad opinion of the lady who walked about alone whistling like a boy and throwing pebbles at poor enamoured squirrels. Nevertheless, while walking homeward, she felt as if she had been presented with a lovely gift. Where could she have seen him before? She recalled a young man of the Dresden days. It was once when she was out walking arm in arm with the colonel along the Prager Strasse. She had seen eyes fixed upon her with the very same sad flash of recognition in them. Then--she remembered it well--she had wanted to look back and ask him: "Who are you? Do you belong to me? Do you want me to belong to you?" But even the partial turn of her head would have been a crime in her husband's eyes. And now, now that she was free, free to choose her friends according to her heart's desire, she had let him go, him, the one--whether the same as the Dresden man or another--who belonged to her, perchance, as she to him. She walked along with half-closed eyes, and conjured up his image. A small, dark, two-cornered beard, so close-cut on his cheeks as to give them a blue sheen. Such beards were seldom to be seen in Berlin. Frenchmen and Italians affected them. Full, firm, tightly compressed lips, lips such as a sculptor chisels. A high, square forehead, on which something like wrath seemed to be imprinted, not ordinary wrath against herself or any poor mortal. It was not of this world, and it really was divine love. Thus Lilly's enthusiasm fed itself. She forgot the way, and strayed about, finally arriving at a spot in an entirely different direction from that which she should have taken. The most dreadful things might have happened to her in the woods, where solitary ladies are exposed to encounters with tramps at any hour of the day. But she scarcely gave heed to her danger. She reached home two hours too late, tired, but in a glow. She could not eat. She threw herself on the chaise longue and dreamt. The bell rang. She heard a man's voice. It could not be Richard. He never came before half past four. Adele entered. There was a strange gentleman outside who wished to know whether the lady had lost her card-case. He had found one in the woods. Lilly jumped to her feet. Actually the little brocade case which she had held in her hand with her silver net purse was gone. In her excitement she had not missed it. "Like what does the gentleman look?"