There were numbers of people walking about, and the lights from the
hotel windows lit up the scene. Only the ivy terrace was in shadow as
he again sat down on the bench.
How had she got in last night? That he must find out--he rose, and
peered about him. Yes, there was a little gate, a flight of steps, a
private entrance into this suite, just round the corner.
And as he looked at it, the lady, wrapped in a scarf of black gauze,
passed him, and standing aside while the silver-haired servant opened
the little door with a key, she then entered and disappeared from
view.
It seemed as if the stars danced to Paul. His whole being was
quivering with excitement, and now he sat on the bench again almost
trembling.
He did not move for at least half an hour; then the clocks chimed in
the town. No, there was no hope; he would see her no more that night.
He rose listlessly to go back to bed, tired out with his day's
climb. And as he stood up, there, above the ivy again, he saw her face
looking down upon him.
How had she crossed the terrace without his hearing her? How long had
she been there? But what matter? At least she was there. And those
eyes looking into his out of the shadow, what did they say? Surely
they smiled at him. Paul jumped on to the bench.
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