"Very few; but just below us, there's the body of a young man, twenty-one years old."
"How was he lost?"
"They say he'd been drinking too freely, but I think that he had a sweetheart in the convent over there. It's a good thing she don't know of it."
Irma looked down into the waves, while the old man continued:
"And over there by the rock the trunk of a tree struck a woodcutter and hurled him into the lake. Over there by the flood-gate, a milkmaid, fifteen years old, happened to get into the current where the drift logs were whirling along, and by the time her body reached the lake, every bit of clothing had been torn from it by the logs."
"Don't tell such frightful stories," said the waiting-maid to the man.
Irma looked up at the steep mountains and asked:
"Could one climb up there?"
"Yes, but they'd find it mighty hard work; still, wherever there are trees, man can climb."
Irma looked down into the lake, and then up at the mountains. One can lose one's-self in the world. "How would it be if one were to do so?" said the voice within her.