In a city square he met a group of young girls carrying school-books. They stopped to throw snow at one another—and they laughed and romped. Their voices rang clearly over the snowy square. Not a footstep was to be heard, nor the sound of a vehicle—only the tinkling bells of the horses, or the rattling of a shop door; and the joyful laughing rang loudly through the stillness.
Johannes saw that one of the girls glanced at him, and then kept looking back. She had on a black hat, and wore a gay little cloak. He knew her face very well, but could not think who she was. She nodded to him—and then again.
"Who is that? I know her."
"That is possible. Her name is Maria. Some call her Robinetta."
"No, that cannot be. She is not like Windekind. She is like any other girl."
"Ha, ha, ha! She cannot be like nobody. But she is what she is. You have been longing to see her, and now I will take you to her."
"No! I do not want to go. I would rather have seen her dead, like the others."
And Johannes did not look round again, but hurried on, muttering:
"This is the last! There is nothing—nothing!"