visible. He would not be fettered,
he would stamp it out! He turned away; but with each step, something
seemed to jab at his heart.

Round the corner of the house, in the shadow of the wall, Dominique, the
Luganese, in embroidered slippers, was smoking a long cherry-wood pipe,
leaning against a tree--Mephistopheles in evening clothes. Harz went up
to him.

"Lend me a pencil, Dominique."

"Bien, M'sieu."

Resting a card against the tree Harz wrote to Mrs. Decie: "Forgive me, I
am obliged to go away. In a few days I shall hope to return, and finish
the picture of your nieces."

He sent Dominique for his hat. During the man's absence he was on the
point of tearing up the card and going back into the house.

When the Luganese returned he thrust the card into his hand, and walked
out between the tall poplars, waiting, like ragged ghosts, silver with
moonlight.

VIII

Harz walked away along the road. A dog was howling. The sound seemed too
appropriate. He put his fingers to his ears, but the lugubrious noise
passed those barriers, and made its way into his heart. Was there
nothing that would put an end to this emotion? It was no better in the
old house on the wall; he spent the night tramping up and down.

Just before daybreak he slipped out with a knapsack, taking the road
towards Meran.

He had not quite passed through Gries when he overtook a man walking in
the middle of the road and leaving a trail of cigar smoke behind him.

"Ah! my friend," the smoker said, "you walk early; are you going my
way?"

It was Count Sarelli. The raw light had imparted a grey tinge to his
pale face, the growth of his beard showed black already beneath the
skin; his thumbs were hooked in the pockets of a closely buttoned coat,
he gesticulated with his fingers.

"You are making a journey?" he said, nodding at the knapsack. "You are
early--I am late; our friend has admirable kummel--I have drunk too
much. You have not been to bed, I think? If there is no sleep in one's
bed it is no good going to look for it. You find that? It is better to
drink kummel...! Pardon! You are doing the right thing: get away! Get
away as fast as possible! Don't wait, and let it catch you!"

Harz stared at him amazed.

"Pardon!" Sarelli said again, raising his hat, "that girl--the white
girl--I saw. You do well to get away!" he swayed a little as he walked.
"That old fellow--what is his name-Trrreffr-ry! What ideas of honour!"
He mumbled: "Ho