she began again:
"I could curse those days of weakness and ecstasy which now--at least I
hope so--are over. Yet they were wonderfully beautiful, and never can I
forget them!"

Here she again bowed her head silently, but the old dame nodded
encouragingly, saying eagerly; "Well, well! I understand all that, and I
shall learn what more is coming, for whatever appears in the mirror of
the wine is infallible--but it must become still more distinct. Let
me--first conjure up the seventy-seven great and the seven hundred and
seventy-seven little demons. They will do their duty, if you open your
heart to us without reserve."

This demand sounded urgent enough, and Ledscha pressed her head against
the old woman's shoulder as if seeking assistance, exclaiming: "I can
not--no, I can not! As if the spirits who obey you did not know already
what had happened and will happen in the future! Let them search the
depths of my soul. There they will see, with their own eyes, what I
should never, never succeed in describing. I could not tell even you,
grandmother, for who among the Biamites ever found such lofty,
heart-bewitching words as Hermon? And what looks, what language he had at
command, when he desired to put an end to my jealous complaints! Could I
still be angry with him, when he confessed that there were other beauties
here whom he admired, and then gazed deep into my eyes and said that when
I appeared they all vanished like the stars at sunrise? Then every
reproach was forgotten, and resentment was transformed into doubly ardent
longing. This, however, by no means escaped his keen glance, which
detects everything, and so he urged me with touching, ardent entreaties
to go with him to his studio, though but for one poor, brief hour."

"And you granted his wish?" Tabus anxiously interrupted.

"Yes," she answered frankly, "but it was the evening of the day before
yesterday--that was the only time. Secrecy--nothing, Grand mother, was
more hateful to me from childhood."

"But he," the old woman again interrupted, "he--I know it--he praised it
to you as the noblest virtue."

A silent nod from Ledscha confirmed this conjecture, and she added
hesitatingly: "'Only far from the haunts of men,' he said, 'when the
light had vanished, did we hear the nightingale trill in the dark
thickets. Those are his own words, and though it angers you, Grandmother,
they are true."

"Until the secrecy is over, and the sun shines upon misery," the