without seeing her!
I will talk to her. She will not stand in the way of your
happiness. Do not try to see her before you leave, then you could
grow soft-hearted, for she is sweet."

And at those words Maurits makes an heroic decision and goes his way.

And when he has gone, what will happen then?

"Scoundrel," sounds in the garden, loud and threateningly, as if to
a thief. Uncle Theodore looks about him. Is it no one else? Is it
only he calling so at himself?

What will happen afterwards? Oh, he will prepare her for Maurits's
departure; show her that Maurits was not worthy of her; make her
despise him. And then when she has cried her heart out on his
breast, he shall so carefully, so skilfully make her understand
what he feels, lure her, win her.

The down still falls. Uncle Theodore stretches out his big hand and
catches a bit of it.

So fine, so light, so delicate! He stands and looks at it.

It falls about him, flake after flake. What will become of them?
They will be driven by the wind, soiled by the earth, trampled upon
by heavy feet.

He begins to feel as if that light down fell upon him with the
heaviest weight. Who will be the wind; who will be the earth; who
will be the shoe when it is a question of such defenceless little
things?

And as a result of his extraordinary knowledge of Noesselt's
"Popular Stories," an episode from one of them occurred to him like
what he had just been thinking.

It was an early morning, not falling night as now. It was a rocky
shore, and down by the sea sat a beautiful youth with a panther
skin over his shoulder, with vine leaves in his hair, with thyrsus
in his hand. Who was he? Oh, the god Bacchus himself.

And the rocky shore was Naxos. It was the seas of Greece the god
saw. The ship with the black sails swiftly sailing towards the
horizon was steered by Theseus and in the grotto, the entrance of
which opened high up in a projection of the steep cliff, slept
Ariadne.

During the night the young god had thought: "Is this mortal youth
worthy of that divine girl!" And to test Theseus he had in a dream
frightened him with the loss of his life, if he did not instantly
forsake Ariadne. Then the latter had risen up, hastened to the
ship, and fled away over the waves without even waking the girl to
say good-bye.

Now the god Bacchus sat there smiling, rocked by the tenderest
hopes, and waited for Ariadne.

The sun rose, the morning breeze freshened. He abandoned him