as a
rule, highly irritated by opposition to his plans, Schwarz only
grumbled in moderation. He would have let no one else off so easily,
and, at another time, the knowledge of this would have rankled in
Maurice, as affording a fresh proof of the master's indifference
towards him. As it was, he was thankful for the freedom it secured him.

On the strength of a chance remark of Madeleine's, which he had
remembered, he found what he looked for, without difficulty. It could
not have been better: a rambling inn, with restaurant, set in a
clearing on the top of a wooded hill, with an open view over the
undulating plains.

That night, he wrote to Louise from the Rochlitzer Berg, painting the
nest he had found for them in glowing colours, and begging her to come
without delay. But the whole of the next day passed without a word from
her, and the next again, and not till the morning of the third, did he
receive a note, announcing her arrival for shortly after midday. He
took it with him to the woods, and lay at full length on the moss.

Although he had been alone now for more than forty-eight hours--a July
quiet reigned over the place--he had not managed to think connectedly.
He was still dazed, disbelieving of what had happened. Again and again
he told himself that his dreams and hopes--which he had always pushed
forward into a vague and far-off future--had actually come to pass. She
was his, all his; she had given herself ungrudgingly: as soon as he
could make it possible, she would be his wife. But, in the meantime,
this was all he knew: his nearer vision was obstructed by the
stupefying thought of the weeks to come. She was to be there, beside
him, day after day, in a golden paradise of love. He could only think
of it with moist eyes; and he swore to himself that he would repay her
by being more infinitely careful of her than ever man before of the
woman he loved. But though he repeated this to himself, and believed
it, his feelings had unwittingly changed their pole. On his knees
before her, he had vowed that her happiness was the end of all his
pleading; now it was frankly happiness he sought, the happiness of them
both, but, first and foremost, happiness. And it could hardly have been
otherwise: the one unpremeditated mingling of their lives had killed
thought; he could only feel now, and, throughout these days, he was
conscious of each movement he made, as of a song sung aloud. He
wandered up and down the wooded path