“He is better this morning, M'mselle. We march—we are getting on. Good news will put the heart into you.” Christian thought: 'How sweet every one is to-day!' Even the Villa seemed to greet her, with the sun aslant on it; and the trees, trembling and weeping golden tears. At the cathedral she was early for the service, but here and there were figures on their knees; the faint, sickly odour of long-burnt incense clung in the air; a priest moved silently at the far end. She knelt, and when at last she rose the service had begun. With the sound of the intoning a sense of peace came to her—the peace of resolution. For good or bad she felt that she had faced her fate. She went out with a look of quiet serenity and walked home along the dyke. Close to Harz's studio she sat down. Now—it was her own; all that had belonged to him, that had ever had a part in him. An old beggar, who had been watching her, came gently from behind. “Gracious lady!” he said, peering at her eyes, “this is the lucky day for you. I have lost my luck.” Christian opened her purse, there was only one coin in it, a gold piece; the beggar's eyes sparkled. She thought suddenly: 'It's no longer mine; I must begin to be careful,' but she felt ashamed when she looked at the old man. “I am sorry,” she said; “yesterday I would have given you this, but—but now it's already given.” He seemed so old and poor—what could she give him? She unhooked a little silver brooch at her throat. “You will get something for that,” she said; “it's better than nothing. I am very sorry you are so old and poor.” The beggar crossed himself. “Gracious lady,” he muttered, “may you never want!” Christian hurried on; the rustling of leaves soon carried the words away. She did not feel inclined to go in, and crossing the bridge began to climb the hill. There was a gentle breeze, drifting the clouds across the sun; lizards darted out over the walls, looked at her, and whisked away. The sunshine, dappling through the tops of trees, gashed down on a torrent. The earth smelt sweet, the vineyards round the white farms glistened; everything seemed to leap and dance with sap and life; it was a moment of Spring in midsummer. Christian walked on, wondering at her own happiness. 'Am I heartless?' she thought. 'I am going to leave him—I am going into life; I shall have to fight now, there'll be no looking back.' The path broke away and wound down to the level of the torrent; on the other side it rose again, and was lost among trees. The woods were dank; she hastened home. In her room she began to pack, sorting and tearing up old letters. 'Only one thing matters,' she thought; 'singleness of heart; to see your way, and keep to it with all your might.' She looked up and saw Barbi standing before her with towels in her hands, and a scared face. “Are you going a journey, gnadiges Fraulein?” “I am going away to be married, Barbi,” said Christian at last; “don't speak of it to any one, please.”