field the spire of a little Lutheran church looked
out oddly round the end of the pagan portico. Behind and on either side
were beeches. Not a soul came out as we drew up at the bottom of the
steps. Not a soul was to be seen except the souls with scythes in the
meadow. We waited a moment, thinking to hear a bell rung and to see
flying waiters, but no one came. The scythes in the meadow swished, the
larks called down that it was a fine evening, some fowls came and pecked
about on the sunny steps of the temple, some red sails passed between
the trunks of the willows down near the water.

'Shall I go in?' inquired Gertrud.

She went up the steps and disappeared through glass doors. Grass grew
between the stones of the steps, and the walls of the house were damp
and green. The ceiling of the portico was divided into squares and
painted sky-blue. In one corner paint and plaster had come off together,
probably in wild winter nights, and this and the grass-grown steps and
the silence gave the place a strangely deserted look. I would have
thought it was shut up if there had not been a table in the portico with
a reassuring red-check cloth on it and a coffee-pot.

Gertrud came out again followed by a waiter and a small boy. I was in no
hurry, and could have sat there contentedly for any time in the pleasant
evening sunshine. The waiter assured me there was just one room vacant
for me, and by the luckiest of chances just one other leading out of it
for the Fraeulein. I followed him up the steps. The portico, open at
either end, framed in delicious pictures. The waiter led me through a
spacious boarded hall where a narrow table along one side told of recent
supper, through intricate passages, across little inner courts with
shrubs and greenery, and blue sky above, and lilac bushes in tubs
looking as though they had to pretend they were orange trees and that
this was Italy and that the white plaster walls, so mouldy in places,
were the marble walls of some classic baths, up strange stairs that
sloped alarmingly to one side, along more passages, and throwing open
one of the many small white doors, said with pride, 'Here is the
apartment; it is a fine, a big, a splendid apartment.'

The apartment was of the sort that produces an immediate determination
in the breast of him to whom it is offered to die sooner than occupy it.
Sleep in its gloomy recesses and parti-coloured bed I would not. Sooner
would I brave the authorities, and