rayed at
random along an inviting road lined with apple-trees. When Louise grew
tired, they rested in the arbour of a primitive GASTHAUS, and ate their
midday meal. Afterwards, in a wood, he spread a rug for her, and she
lay in a nest of sun-spots. Only their own voices broke the silence.
Then she fell asleep, and, until she opened her eyes again, and called
to him in surprise, no sound was to be heard but the sudden, crisp
rustling of some bird or insect. When evening fell, they returned to
their lodging, ate their supper in the smoky public room--for, outside,
mists had risen--and then before them stretched, undisturbed, the long
evening and the longer night, to be spent in a strange room, of which
they had hitherto not suspected the existence, but which, from now on,
would be indissolubly bound up with their other memories.

The first day passed in such a manner was as flawless as any they had
known in the height of summer--with all the added attractions of closer
intimacy. In its course, the shadows lifted from her eyes; and Maurice
ceased to remember that he had made a mess of his affairs. But the very
next one failed--as far as Louise was concerned--to reach the same
level: it was like a flower ever so slightly overblown. The lyric
charms that had so pleased her--the dewy freshness of the morning, the
solitude, the unbroken sunshine--were frail things, and, snatched with
too eager a hand, crumbled beneath the touch. They were not made to
stand the wear and tear of repetition. It was also impossible, she
found, to live through again days such as they had spent at Rochlitz;
time past was past irrevocably, with all that belonged to it. And it
was further, a mistake to believe that a more intimate acquaintance
meant a keener pleasure; it was just the stimulus of strangeness, the
piquancy of feeling one's way, that had made up half the fascination of
the summer.

With sure instinct, Louise recognised this, even while she exclaimed
with delight. And her heart sank: not until this moment had she known
how high her hopes had been, how firmly she had pinned her faith upon
the revival of passion which these days were to bring to pass. The
knowledge that this had been a delusion, was hard to bear. In thought,
she was merciless to herself, when, on waking, the second morning, she
looked with unexpectant eyes over the day that lay before her. Could
nothing satisfy her, she asked herself? Could she not be content for
twenty-f