inn, and were soon established for the night.
Madame Patoff was still enchanted with the view, and insisted on sitting
out upon the low balcony until late at night, though the air was very
cool and the dampness rose from the river. There was something in the
wild place which soothed her. She almost wished she could stay there
forever, and hide her sorrow from the world in such a nest as this,
overhanging the wild water, perched high in air, and surrounded on all
sides by the soft black forest. For the Black Forest is indeed black, as
only such impenetrable masses of evergreen can be.

In the early morning the tall old lady in black was again at her place
on the balcony when Professor Cutter appeared. She sat by the low
parapet, and gazed down as in a trance at the tumbling water, and at the
solitary fisherman who stood bare-legged on a jutting rock, casting his
rough tackle on the eddying stream. She was calmer than she had seemed
for a long time, and the professor began seriously to doubt the wisdom
of taking her to England, although he had already written to her
brother-in-law, naming the date when they expected to arrive.

"Shall we go on this morning?" he asked, in a tone which left the answer
wholly at Madame Patoff's decision.

"Where?" she asked, dreamily.

"Another stage on our way home," answered the professor.

"Yes," she said, with sudden determination. "If we stay here any longer,
I shall be so much in love with the place that I shall never be able to
leave it. Let us go at once. I feel as though something might happen to
prevent us."

"Very well. I will make all the arrangements." Professor Cutter
forthwith went to consult the landlord, leaving Madame Patoff upon the
balcony. She sat there without moving, absorbed in the beauty of the
scene, and happy to forget her troubles even for a moment in the sight
of something altogether new. Her thoughts were indeed confused. It was
but the day before yesterday that she had seen her son Paul after years
of separation, and that alone was sufficient to disturb her. She had
never liked him,--she could not tell why, except it were because she
loved Alexander better,--and she could not help looking on Paul as on
the man who had robbed her of what she loved best in the world. But the
recollection of the interview was cloudy and uncertain. She had given
way to a violent burst of anger, and was not quite sure of what had
happened. She tried to thrust it all away from