"Silvain did not reply, and, gazing at him, I saw that he was lost in reverie. I had recalled the image of the girl, and he was musing upon it.
"At another time I asked Silvain whether he himself had referred to her in his conversations with his brother. He confessed that he had not. There was, then, a secret which these brothers held close in their hearts. I was not wise enough to fix instantly upon the correct solution of this secret which each was keeping from the other. It required, in a third party, a riper experience than was at my command, to read the riddle aright.
"Two months passed by, and Kristel hoped in a few days to be able to move out of the hut in which he had been so long confined, Silvain was in the habit of going to the post-office in the village, which lay at the foot of the mountain. He went one morning as usual for letters, and I was left with Kristel. We conversed freely, and Kristel asked me to bring his desk, which was on a table at a little distance from the couch upon which he was lying. I brought the desk, and he opened it. He took letters from it which he did not read, and then some drawings in water-colours, an art in which he was proficient. He glanced at them, and laid them singly aside, retaining one, upon which he gazed long and earnestly.
"'You are an artist,' I said, for, seeing that I had moved my chair from the bed, so that I should not intrude upon his private matters, he had called me closer, and invited me by a gesture to examine the sketches.
"'But a poor one,' he said, still gazing at the drawing in his hand. 'Still, this is not bad, I think.' And he held it out to me.
"He did not notice the start I gave when my eyes fell upon the sketch. It was that of a young girl, with most wonderful black hair which hung loosely down. She was standing on the upper gallery of a lighthouse, and the silver spray of wild waves was dashing upon the stone edifice. Her left hand was arched above her brows, and a scarlet kerchief was wound gracefully round her lovely head.
"I examined it in silence. The likeness to the description given by Silvain was unmistakable, and it was only by an effort of self-restraint that I prevented myself from disclosing that the figure was familiar to me. The right was not mine; the secret was not mine. A confidence had been reposed in me by Silvain, and, if he and Kristel had not spoken to each other of the girl, it was not for me to betray my knowledge of her.
"'A fancy sketch?' I asked.
"'No,' replied Kristel, 'from the life. Is she not beautiful?'
"'Very beautiful,' I said, with a sinking heart.