ld not bring her any sooner to him than if she waited here until
to-morrow; but how could she sit still till to-morrow? She must be
moving; she seemed to have been sitting still for an eternity. "I must
not do anything rash," she told herself, carefully. "I must arrive at
Bad-Platten able to sit down beside him the moment I have taken off my
jacket--oh, without waiting to take off my jacket." She went into the
hotel and ate some food, just to show herself how careful she had
become. About three o'clock she set off. She had a fierce desire to
get away from that heartless white stream and the crack of whips and
the doleful pine woods, and at first she walked very quickly; but she
never got away from them, for they marched with her. It was not that
day, but the next, that Grizel thought anything was marching with her.
That day her head was quite clear, and she kept her promise to
herself, and as soon as she felt tired she stopped for the night at a
village inn. But when she awoke very early next morning she seemed to
have forgotten that she was to travel the rest of the way by
diligence; for, after a slight meal, she started off again on foot,
and she was walking all day.

She passed through many villages so like each other that in time she
thought they might be the same. There was always a monster inn whence
one carriage was departing as another drove up, and there was a great
stone water-tank in which women drew their washing back and forward,
and there was always a big yellow dog that barked fiercely and then
giggled, and at the doors of painted houses children stood. You knew
they were children by their size only. The one person she spoke to
that day was a child who offered her a bunch of wild flowers. No one
was looking, and Grizel kissed her and then hurried on.

The carriage passed and repassed her. There must have been a hundred
of them, but in time they became one. No sooner had it disappeared in
dust in front of her than she heard the crack of its whip behind.

It was a glorious day of sweltering sun; but she was bewildered now,
and did not open the umbrella with which she had shielded her head
yesterday. In the foreground was always the same white road, on both
sides the same pine wood laughing with wild flowers, the same roaring
white stream. From somewhere near came the tinkle of cow-bells. Far
away on heights, if she looked up, were villages made of match-boxes.
She saw what were surely the same villages if