gate in the park wall
over there."

The old man nodded indifferently, turned into the side road, and
stopped before the small gate in the park wall. When Billy had got out,
she stood still a moment and said hesitantly: "I suppose I must pay."

"'s all right," answered the old man with a bad grace, "I'm going to
deliver some honey in the courtyard anyway."

"But not right away," pleaded Billy.

"I know, I know the game," murmured the old man, "needn't tell me."

Billy disappeared behind the gate. Cautiously she hurried up the little
paths: everything was silent and unpeopled, and the house stood there
as if asleep, with lowered blinds. Cautiously Billy approached the back
stairs. From the windows of the servants' quarters resounded the
long-drawn notes of a hymn: the servants were having their Sunday
worship. Before the washhouse stood the washwoman, putting her hand to
her eyes and looking out into the sunshine. Where had Billy just seen
that? Oh yes, over yonder in her dream. Now she softly ran up the
stairs, now she was in her room. Here too everything had waited for her
unchanged, and the familiar scent of the room, the familiar light, all
moved her so deeply that tears streamed down her face without effort or
pain. She locked the door, hastily pulled off her clothes, and crept
into her bed. Tears and sleep she craved, nothing else. Then when she
awoke, simply to belong again to all this that had waited here for her
so unchanged, so quietly and proudly.

Strange enough was the Sunday that had broken upon Kadullen. The news
of Billy's return home spread quickly. The washwoman had told the
butler, the butler reported it to Countess Betty, and then the old
beekeeper came into the servants' room and told his story. He was taken
to the Count and there cross-examined; but to no avail, for the affair
remained as incomprehensible as before. Why had she gone away? What had
happened? Marion was sent up to Billy's room, but reported that Billy
would admit no one and wished to sleep. Full of trouble Countess Betty
and Madame Bonnechose sat on the garden-steps beside Lisa, who had
stretched herself out on a reclining chair, for she felt very weak from
all these excitements. The two old ladies were silent: what should they
say?--they no longer understood _la chere jeunesse_. Only Madame
Bonnechose murmured from time to time, "_C'est incomprehensible._"
Countess Betty nodded, but Lisa would smile dreamily and say,
"Understan