And when he saw them making vain endeavors to resuscitate her he remarked that he feared it would do no good. And he added, "Indeed, I don't fear—but I hope so."
"For her sake," said the countess.
"Surely for her sake," repeated Johannes, in some surprise.
Van Lieverlee had not appeared. But when the corpse of the beautiful girl had been placed upon her death-bed, her slender hands crossed upon her breast, her hair—still moist—laid in heavy braids about the delicate, sallow little face, the dark lashes nearly closed over the sightless eyes, white lilies and snowdrops all around, then Van Lieverlee came to see.
"Look," said he to Johannes, "this is very pretty. I would not have cared to see her taken from the water. A drowned person is nearly always an ugly spectacle. Even the most beautiful girl becomes repulsive and clownlike when being dragged out of the water by leg or arm, with face and hair all duck-weed and mud. But this is worth while. Mind, Johannes, genuine artists are always lucky. They come across the beautiful, everywhere. Such an event as this is, for a poet, a rare bit of good luck."
The next day he was deep in the making of poetry. But Johannes was in a restless, introverted mood, and could find no words for what distressed him.
VIII
A few days later, the two guests were sitting with their hostess at the afternoon-tea table.