I do not know how many hours I passed in wandering thus through the streets: I have only a dim remembrance of great blocks of houses rising dark into the gray of the night; of flakes of snow fluttering down from this gray into the yellow light; of vehicles rolling past me almost without sound, over the fresh-fallen snow; and figures that glided by me with heads down, sheltering themselves as they best could from the snow-storm.
There were not many of these latter, for every one sought a shelter from the bad weather. Those who were out in it were those who had no choice, such as the unhappy creatures who with pale lips murmured to the passers-by words intended to sound warm and inviting.
One of these unfortunates I thought I saw before me, as wandering through a wide street in the most distinguished quarter I reached one of the small palaces, before the door of which just then drove up at a sharp trot a carriage drawn by two fiery horses, and throwing around a bright light from both its lamps. In the light of these lamps stood the girl, crouching close to the wall, and I saw that at the moment when the equerry sprang from the box and helped his master out of the carriage she advanced a step and extended her arm from her cloak, as if she wished to stop the latter as he descended. But he had pulled the fur collar of his cloak up around his face, and as he rapidly hurried up the steps did not see the girl. The door, which had given a sight of a brilliantly-lighted hall, closed behind master and servant; the coachman touched his spirited animals lightly with the whip, the carriage rolled away and vanished into the open gate of an adjoining building.
No one remained without but myself, the poor girl, and the snow-flakes still fluttering down from the darkness into the yellow light of the lamps. The girl came towards me and passed me by. It was plain that she did not see me, but I saw her as the light of one of the lamps struck upon a face distorted by mental anguish.
"Constance!" I exclaimed.
She suddenly stopped and stared at me with her glowing black eyes.
"Constance!" I repeated, "do you not know me? It is I--George----"
"My dragon-slayer, who was to kill all the dragons in my path! Why have you not killed that one--that one!" and she laughed a frightful laugh, and pointed to the door which had closed on Prince Prora.
Her cloak was loose and fluttering in the icy wind, and I saw she was still in the costume of Preciosa. She must have rushed off the stage into the street. The snow-flakes were driving into her fevered face.
"Poor Constance!" I murmured, and wrapped the cloak closer around her shoulders, drew her arm in mine, anxious first of all to lead her from this place. She willingly followed me, and we walked thus through the long, wind-swept streets, I looking down from time to time at the poor girl, who clung even closer to me, and asking her in a compassionate tone how she was, and whither I should take her.