"My dear Miss Victoria, the place is yours and not mine." "I wronged you once, Johannes; I wanted to make it good again, to put it right. I really have a surprise which I think ... I mean, which I hope will please you. I can't say more. But I will ask you to come this time." "If it will give you any pleasure I shall come." "Will you?" "Yes; thank you for your kindness." When he had come down into the wood he turned and looked back. She had sat down; her basket lay by her side. He did not go home, but continued to stroll up and down the road. A thousand thoughts were conflicting within him. A surprise? That was what she said just now, only a moment ago, and her voice trembled. A warm, nervous joy came over him, making his heart beat violently, and he felt himself lifted up from the road on which he was walking. And was it a mere chance that she was dressed in yellow today again? He had looked at her hand where the ring had been--she had no ring. An hour passed. The scent of the woods and fields surrounded him, penetrated his breath, entered his heart. He sat down, leaned back with his hands clasped behind his neck and listened for a while to the song of the cuckoo on the other side of the bay. All round him the air thrilled with a passionate song of birds. So once more it had happened! When she came up to him in the quarry in her yellow dress and blood-red hat she looked like a wandering butterfly that flitted from stone to stone and stopped before him. I don't want to disturb you, she said, and smiled; her smile was red, her whole face lit up, she strewed stars about her. She had delicate blue veins on her neck and the few freckles under her eyes gave her a warm tint. She was in her twentieth year. A surprise? What did she intend? Would she perhaps show him his books, produce those two or three volumes, to please him by showing that she had bought them all and cut them? There, you see, a small attention, a little bit of charity! Pray don't despise my poor contribution! He rose impetuously and stood still. Victoria was coming back, her basket was empty. "You didn't find any flowers?" he asked absently. "No, I gave it up. I wasn't looking for them either; I just sat there." He said: "While I remember it: you must not go on thinking that you have done me any wrong. You have nothing to make good again with any kind of charity." "Haven't I?" she answered, taken aback. She thought it over again, looked at him and pondered. "Haven't I? I thought that time.... I didn't want you to go on bearing me a grudge for what happened." "No, I don't bear you a grudge." She thought again for a while. Suddenly she gave a cast of her neck. "Then that's all right," she said. "Well, I might have known it. Of course it didn't make so deep an impression as all that. Very well then, we won't talk about it any more." "Good-bye," she said. "Till we meet again." "Good-bye," he answered.